Après Moi
by stargazingandsunshine
Summary: Éponine is trying to pull her life together, but things get complicated when she befriends a group of activists and develops feelings for their leader. Modern AU.
1. So I Walked By

**Trigger Warning**: drug references and domestic violence references.

**A/N:** Since it's a modern AU, I'm going to change things up a bit (just like making some of them a bit older, that sort of thing) but I promise I'll try my hardest to keep the characters' personalities as accurate as I can. There's nothing more frustrating than a fanfic that changes a character's personality for a relationship.

Also, I'm reading the book but only a few chapters in, so most of my ideas are inspired by the movie, other fanfics, or my own personal headcanons.

Enjoy:)

* * *

Picked you out my pocket  
And you fell into the road  
You asked me if I'd make it better  
Asked me if we could grow old together

-Kate Nash, _Pickpocket_

* * *

Éponine leaned up against the brick wall in the alley. She wrapped her arms around herself, shuddering although her face burned hot. Her dirty hair got stuck to the rough bricks. She yanked them out, but a few strands stuck to the wall, a later message for a stranger to see.

She screamed out once, pounding her fists against the wall. _What have you done, Éponine? You've ruined everything. Do you think anyone else would ever want you?_

There was no going back. Montparnasse wasn't going to take her back, not after what she just said. He had taken her in and paid for anything she needed; couldn't she have been a bit more grateful? And she couldn't go back to her parents. The streets were better than living with them.

Her dark hair was sticking to the sweat on her face. She pushed it back and wiped the tears from under her eyes. Éponine winced; she had momentarily forgotten her eye was swollen. Her skin was itching. No, worse than itching—she wanted to tear it off. She pulled at her hair, which was starting to frizz. She scratched at the marks on her arms. She needed to mainline. Now. But she didn't have the money. No matter, Éponine was resourceful and knew how to get what she needed.

She walked out of the gritty alleyway. A young man was walking up the street towards her. He was tall and thin, and had a mess of brown hair on his head. He was dressed well. Too well. He stood out like a daisy in a field of weeds. No- more like a daisy in a field of mud. Really, Éponine thought, he was just begging for it.

She turned and began walking his direction. Bumping into his shoulder ever-so-slightly, she managed to grab his wallet from his back pocket. _Unbelievable,_ Éponine thought. _How trusting could one man be, to leave his wallet in such a reachable place?_

"Pardon me, mademoiselle," the man said, turning to smile at her.

"My fault, monsieur," Éponine said. _What? No one apologizes here. I haven't apologized in years._

"Are you okay?" he asked her, observing her distressed state.

"Sorry?"

"I don't mean to pry. It just looks like you had a rough go."

"I'm fine," Éponine waved her hand like she was waving the question away. She turned around to keep walking. _Who does this guy think he is?_

"Have a good day," the man called out.

Éponine stopped in her tracks. She looked at the man's leather wallet she had in her hands. Suddenly it felt heavy. And wrong. Suddenly she had felt regret.

She turned back around. The man was still smiling at her. "Monsieur? I think you dropped your wallet," she said. Éponine, what are you doing? You need that!

"Oh, thank you so much! I lost my car keys this morning, now my wallet. I think I spend half my life losing things I shouldn't."

"And I spend half my life finding things I shouldn't," Éponine grinned.

"A smile! Now we are getting somewhere, mademoiselle!" the man said.

"Call me Éponine."

"Éponine? I'm Marius. Are you busy? I'm off to the community center down the street, do you know it? Would you like to join me?"

"Sure, why not?" Éponine agreed, although she wasn't sure why. For the first time in two years, she forgot about her itching skin.

* * *

**Six months later**

The secretary motioned for Éponine sat down in a rickety chair. She obliged. She tapped her foot lightly, looking around the dingy elementary school office. The chipping paint, the ragged carpet; it wasn't much to discuss. The government had obviously lost any willpower to fix the public schools, particularly one from the inner city. The door swung open, letting in a burst of cold air, and a young man walked in. After having a quick, murmured discussion with the secretary, He sat down next to Éponine, but didn't make eye contact.

He stood out dramatically from his gritty surroundings. His blonde hair was clean and he was dressed in a suit. He had a handsome face and carried himself with a sort of self-importance. He wasn't much older than she. Éponine wiped her hands on her own grimy jeans. "You look too young to have a kid here," Éponine said, tugging at a hole in her sweater.

The man studied her quickly, then faced forward once more. "And you as well," he replied, his voice smooth.

Éponine smiled and pushed her greasy dark hair from her face. "Gavroche 's not my son, but my brother."

The man nodded slowly. "And Charlotte not my daughter, but a family friend."

"Children taking care of children," Éponine said lightly. The man didn't respond; she could only assume he didn't hear her. _More like children taking care of themselves, _she corrected, though only in her head.

A door at the end of the hall opened violently. A grizzled old man poked his head out. "Monsieur Bossuet? Mademoiselle Thénadier?" The man said. Éponine flinched at the name. She should have changed it long ago.

"Actually, I'm Enjolras, a family friend. Monsieur Bossuet went out of town and is having the worst luck trying to make it back, the poor guy. I'm taking care of Charlotte while he's gone." The man nodded then beckoned them down the dim hallway and into his office.

The inside of the office rather matched the outside, save for a large French flag on the man's wall. Gavroche was sitting in a chair, a rather proud look on his face. The other chair was occupied by a girl about the same age—Charlotte, Éponine assumed—in a dress with a stoic, if not slightly ashamed, expression.

"Monsieur, Mademoiselle, I am Monsieur Gillenormand, the principal of this school. Please, have a seat," he offered. His voice matched his gruff appearance. Enjolras grabbed two chairs at the back of the office and sat them between their two young charges. Éponine murmured her thanks.

"I supposed I should get straight to the point," Gillenormand said. "These two young… _students _have been riling up their peers."

"What do you mean?" Enjolras asked.

"They… well, they tried to start an uprising in a classroom."

Éponine turned to Gavroche, who was kicking his feet in amusement. She knew he was a troublemaker, but this? She had no desire to control her brother, but still, she wished he would at least be more discreet. Enjolras, on the other hand, smirked briefly before returning to his expressionless face.

"The children will be sent home for the rest of today. Meanwhile, I would like both of you to consider where they might have gotten these atrocious ideas."

Éponine and Enjolras both nodded. "Of course, Monsieur." He motioned for the two of them to leave.

The four of them walked out, Enjolras and Charlotte right in front of Éponine and Gavroche. The man walked with purpose, like he had somewhere to be and there was no sense in bumming around. "Are you angry?" Charlotte said in her small voice.

"Of course not, Charlie. You know I think it's important to stand up for yourself, and others. I just don't think you should be getting anybody else in trouble," he told the girl.

Enjolras stopped suddenly to face Charlotte. Only, Éponine hadn't noticed, and accidently bumped into him. "Ohmygod, I am so sorry!" she apologized.

"It's fine," he said dismissively.

"No, really. And I'm sorry about Gavroche. I try to keep him out of trouble, but it's hard when he actively searches for it," she said. She didn't like the idea of the girl getting in trouble because of her brother.

"That's right," beamed Gavroche.

"Really, don't worry about it," Enjolras said, walking towards his car. "Have a good day." He and the young girl got into the car and drove away.

Éponine stared down at her hands, which were holding the man's wallet. It was dark and plain, the leather worn and soft. She hadn't meant to take it. It was an impulse that occurred when she tripped over him.

"Nice one, 'Ponine!" Gavroche said, seeing the wallet. "I didn't even notice. You're getting better."

"No, Gavroche. We should return it." _What would Marius think?_ "Come on, we should find a payphone to call Marius. He'll know what to do."

They walked down the street a ways till she found a phone booth and dialed Marius's number. It was the only one she had memorized. "Marius? It's Éponine. I found a wallet, and I don't really know what to do with it."

"Can you run it by the police station?" Marius said.

"I could, but I have to go to work," Éponine replied.

"You got a job? That's great, Éponine! Where?"

"Café Musain, do you know it? Maybe you could meet me there?"

"Yes, 'Ponine, I know it. They serve alcohol there," he stated flatly. "I don't think that's a place you should be working."

"Marius, it's hard enough for a nineteen-year-old to find a job nowadays, not to mention one with a record. They're the only place hiring. Besides, alcohol wasn't my problem."

"I know, 'Ponine, but still."

"Can you meet me there or not?" Éponine said, growing frustrated. Marius was just trying to look out for her. She should be glad he cared. But she wanted him to be happy for her, and she didn't like it when he disapproved.

"Yeah, sure, I can meet you there," he said.

"Okay, I start work in an hour. See you then," she said brightly. She bounced on the balls of her feet, eager for a chance to see Marius. It had been days since they talked last. She was used to going everywhere with him.

She clicked the phone back into place. "Come on, Gavroche. We have to go or I'll never make it there on time." She gripped the wallet tight in her hand as she headed towards the café.

* * *

**A/N**: This is my first ever fanfiction! Please review! I could use all the help I could get! I hope you liked it. I know its starts a bit slow, but we got the meet in the first chapter, so that's something, right?

The barricade boys will be joining us in the next chapter! Yay!

The title _Après Moi_ comes from the Regina Spektor song of the same name.


	2. Break and Melt

**Trigger Warning**: references to domestic violence and drug addiction.

**A/N**: Okay I promised you barricade boys, didn't I? Well I didn't have room to include all of them (**SORRY**), but whoever isn't here is in the next chapter! (That's right, I already starting writing it!) I tried to put them all in here but y'all would've been overwhelmed.

Also, like I said, I just started reading the book, so all I know about the characters is from the movie and my meager research.

Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

Please don't let this turn into something it's not

I can only give you everything I've got

I can't be as sorry as you think I should

But I still love you more than anyone else could

Snow Patrol_, Make this Go On Forever_

* * *

Éponine stood behind the bar while her little brother spun around the barstool, telling her about his plans for the evening. The owner of the café, a pretty young girl named Musichetta, left in a rush, declaring some sort of personal emergency. She told Éponine she would be fine on her own; Éponine was a quick learner and had figured out how to use the equipment in a matter of minutes. The bell attached to the door rang out, and Éponine looked up, excited. Her smile faltered momentarily when she saw it was not Marius, but the youthful Courfeyrac. He wiped some rain droplets from his curly hair and smiled at the two of them. He had his backpack on, probably coming straight from his classes; the college was only blocks away.

"Bonjour, Éponine!" he said. "You got a job! And at my favorite café, too!" he said brightly.

"A café that serves good beer," a dark-haired man added, approaching them from the back of the café. He used one hand to hold a beer and the other to steady himself. "Let's not leave out the most important fact. Although I suppose your reasons have more to do with the female customers, Courfeyrac."

"Grantaire, it's been a while," Courfeyrac said, shaking the man's free hand. "Do you know Éponine?"

"No, but I think I'd like to. Mademoiselle," he said to her, bowing dramatically. She blushed just slightly at the gesture.

"She's Gavroche's older sister," Courfeyrac said, motioning to the boy.

"'Roche told me you two have plans tonight?" Éponine said to Courfeyrac, changing the subject.

"Yeah, can he come over after this meeting?" Courfeyrac asked.

Gavroche and Courfeyrac first met at the community center, the one that Éponine went to with Marius the day she met him. The two men often went to volunteer and work with kids who didn't have anyone at home. After a while, Éponine started taking Gavroche with her, and Gavroche and Courfeyrac became inseparable in a matter of days. Courfeyrac often let Gavroche come over and play video games. It was good for Éponine, too, because she didn't have to wonder where he was. And she never had to worry about him eating there, either. Not that Courfeyrac could cook well; Éponine always thought of him as a boy in a man's body. But frozen pizzas were better than nothing.

It also didn't hurt that Courfeyrac happened to be Marius's roommate, giving Éponine the chance to see him that much more.

The bells on the door rang out again. It was Marius. He smiled at her and Éponine's heart leapt. "Bonjour, Marius!" she called out. Her face grew hot when she realized she might have greeted him just a bit too loudly.

"'Ponine! It's been a few days," he said, approaching the bar. He patted Grantaire's and Courfeyrac's shoulders as he passed to sit down next to Gavroche at the bar.

She was giddy with the idea that Marius might have actually missed her company. But Éponine didn't have the chance to tell him how much _she_ had missed _him_, because two more students entered the shop. The first she didn't recognize. But the second she did. It was the man called Enjolras, the one she had met at the school only earlier that day. She noticed the way he walked in; it was similar to how he walked into the school. Although he was probably only about twenty, Éponine guessed he thought of himself as much older.

Éponine wasn't planning on seeing him ever again. That's why she was going to give the wallet to Marius, so she wouldn't have to face the fact that she had stolen for the first time in months.

Enjolras was discussing something with his friend. Éponine wasn't quite sure what it was, but it must have been important. He had a serious look on his face and was waving his arms as he talked. The two of them approached the counter but didn't yet acknowledge her. A small crowd was now forming at the bar. "All I'm saying is," Enjolras said to his friends, "Lemarque's funeral would be the best time to strike."

"That just feels a bit wrong. Shouldn't we wait for the man to get in the ground first?" the one she didn't recognize said.

"But isn't that what they would expect, Combeferre?"

"Perhaps, but people will be too emotional after the funeral to rally. Lemarque was—_is_—a great man. Everyone needs time to grieve. If we rally at the funeral... I just don't think it will end well."

"Combeferre, we talked about this. You and I both know this probably won't end well for any one of us. But it's not about us, its about our future generations. Lemarque is a spokesperson for the underprivileged. He's too weak at the moment; news of a revolt would just make his condition worse. But that doesn't mean a revolt isn't what he wants. Can I get a coffee please?" Enjolras said, but he didn't see Éponine till after the words left his lips. "…You?"

"Yeah, I, uh… work here now," Éponine said awkwardly.

"You two know each other?" Courfeyrac chimed in.

"Yeah, we met earlier today. Charlotte got in trouble at the school at I had to run down there since Bossuet is still out of town," Enjolras told him.

"What happened?" the man known as Combeferre asked.

"Charlotte tried to start an uprising in the classroom," Enjolras said, with just a hint of amusement in his voice.

"That's right, and I helped!" piped up Gavroche.

"Did you really?" Courfeyrac said. "Bravo, little Gavroche!" Courfeyrac gave him a high five.

"We have boys fighting men's fights already?" Combeferre said.

"We all know Gavroche is no boy," Grantaire said.

"Are you gonna join us, Pontmercy?" Enjolras said to Marius.

"You should!" offered Courfeyrac.

"Yeah, sure, in a minute," Marius replied noncommittally. "I just have to talk with 'Ponine really quick."

"We're still missing a couple of people," Combeferre said.

Courfeyrac shrugged. "They'll show up eventually."

The four students ordered their drinks. But when Enjolras was about to pay, he realized he couldn't find his wallet. He patted down all his pockets, more irritated than panicked.

"Looking for this?" Éponine asked, pulling the leather wallet from the back pocket of her jeans. "You dropped it when you left the school," she lied. _Please don't see through me. _She had been caught stealing before, and usually it earned her nothing less than a bruise. But this man hadn't even caught her, much less hit her. Why was she so nervous, then? _Marius must be getting to me, making me feel guilty, _she decided. She noticed her hand shaking as she handed the wallet to him.

"Thanks. Not something I should be misplacing," was all he said.

Éponine wasn't used to the idea that a stranger would just believe her.

Everyone but Marius went to sit at the large table in the back corner of the café, leaving them alone at the bar. "What do they talk about?" Éponine asked Marius, motioning to the group of students.

"The Les Amis, as they're known around campus, are really big on advocating for the lower class."

"Like you, Monsieur Marius? I met your grandpa today," she said as she continued to make the coffee. "He may be a principal at a school, but I could tell he's rich."

"My grandpa inherited his money, 'Ponine. I prefer to earn mine." _Better than stealing it, I suppose. _"So how's your first day going, 'Ponine?" he asked her, changing the subject.

Éponine smiled. "Well, I was working with Musichetta for about half an hour and then she had to run off."

"But you can manage."

She paused her work. Something fluttered in Éponine's stomach. "Yeah, I think I can. Hold on a second, let me drop these off," she said, gathering the coffees in her hands. She walked them over to the group of students. They were leaned in towards the center of the table, their words not audible but their tone one of despair. Their posture straightened and their discussion sputtered out when they finally noticed Éponine.

As she set their drinks on the table, she found herself playing a game she used to play as a child, one her parents taught her. The point of the game was to guess which pocket each man kept his wallet. She was already walking away when she realized what she was thinking. She took a deep breath and sighed. _Change isn't easy, Éponine. But it's the right thing to do. It's what Marius expects out of you. _

A girl entered the shop. She had bright eyes and a small grin that Éponine could only assume was permanently attached to her face. Her blonde curls were pulled back into a ponytail that bounced when she walked. She emitted the general impression of kindness, but also of confidence.

Éponine wiped her hands on her apron. She knew this girl. Éponine was sure of it. Her face was a vague memory that Éponine couldn't quite grasp. "What can I get for you?" Éponine asked.

"Oh, I don't know… make me your favorite. Actually, make two of them. I'm meeting my father later," the girl said. Even her voice was lovely. _She reminds me of a dove_, Éponine thought. _No, not a dove… a lark._

The thought hit Éponine with full force. She could feel herself growing faint at the memories. She stumbled and caught herself on the counter. Her hand knocked over a metal spoon, which crashed onto the ground with a clanking that rang across the café. A hush fell over the building as everyone looked up at her. She mumbled an apology.

_How could this be? We were kids together. No, she was never a kid. Not when I knew her. She was only an object that my parents used. That _I _used_. She turned to Marius, hoping his face would provide some sort of comfort. But Éponine was only disappointed further when she saw him staring at the lark. She turned her face down, avoiding anyone's gaze, and began to work.

As she made the coffee, Éponine was overcome with the memories of her past. She had a good life before Cosette left. But only because Cosette was the object of her parents' negative attention. Éponine dreamed about what her life would have been like. Their positions would have been reversed; Éponine would have been the one healthy, happy, walking into a café and lighting up the entire room. She wouldn't be where she was now, barely staying off the streets, half-starved and begging for the attention of a friend. She didn't hate Cosette, not by any means. But she couldn't help but feel flooded by an intense jealousy, the kind that ferments inside of you.

Éponine looked up to see Cosette staring back at Marius. It took the girl a moment to realize her order was ready. She took the coffee, gave Éponine a generous tip, and left the coffee shop, shining even brighter than she had entered.

Marius stared longingly at the door for a moment before turning to Éponine. "'Ponine? You look like you've seen a ghost." The girl had taken on a greenish hue, which only worsened her malnourished appearance.

"I think I have, monsieur," she replied softly.

Marius didn't hear her. "'Ponine," he said eagerly. "'Ponine, do you know her? Can you find out who she is for me?!" He was about to fall off the barstool with excitement. He looked like a little puppy getting taken home from the pound.

The inside of Éponine's elbow started to itch. "For you, monsieur? Anything."

* * *

**A/N**: Guess who Musichetta's 'personal emergency' was? Hahhaa.

I really did try to add all the boys in here, and it ended up being an extra 700 words. It was just too long and kind of suffocated the chapter. I also don't feel like I did Grantaire justice by any means. But he will definitely be returning so I'll have a chance to redeem myself.

Anyway, sorry about the pace. I just had to get Marius and Cosette paired off and out of the way to set up for some really awesome E/É moments coming your way.

BUT THERE'S JUST THIS SCENE IN THE NEXT CHAPTER THAT JUST _omg_. I'm dying. I can't wait for you guys to read it. Really like its just such a great scene.

(This A/N is getting long sorry just one more thing) I'm sorry I didn't reply to your reviews! This is my first fanfic so to be honest I didn't know you could reply until last night haha but I can assure you that I read all of them (multiple times) and really appreciate your support. You're all just so lovely!


	3. I Give Up, I Give In

**Trigger warning- **references to domestic violence and drug use

**A/N**: Hi everyone! Just wanted to say thanks for all the support. You're really all very lovely. I wanted to update yesterday, but I was visiting some family. But This chapter is a bit longer, so that should make up for it I hope.

Again, thank you guys for all the support, it really means a lot to me.

Enjoy!

* * *

This heart's been sleeping for months  
This heart can't wait to see you  
This heart doesn't wanna convince you that  
This heart will not collapse

-Mary Lambert, _This Heart_

* * *

It had been only a few days since Marius had seen Cosette. In that time, Éponine had figured out Cosette's number and even her address. As soon as she handed her friend the piece of paper, he was gone. Éponine couldn't help but feel that if she hadn't asked Marius to come down to the café, he would have never met Cosette.

Éponine tried to take her mind off of Marius by learning the names of all the regulars of Café Musain, particularly the members of Les Amis. Courfeyrac she already knew, and Grantaire she had quickly grown fond of. Although perpetually drunk, he had a friendly (if not a little troublemaking) persona that reminded Éponine of her little brother. Combeferre, although quiet, seemed to have a good nature about him. Enjolras seemed to only smile when someone offered a good idea.

The next member she met was Joly, who entered with Musichetta only minutes after Cosette had left. She could only assume that he was Musichetta's 'personal emergency' that made her leave Éponine alone on her first day. He was an anxious man, who's color only seemed to return to his face when his female counterpart was around. Immediately after shaking hands with Éponine, Joly had dumped about three quarter-sized pumps of hand sanitizer onto his hands. Musichetta laughed and told her not to take it personally.

There were four members who she did not meet on her first day. First was Jehan. He was tall and broad-shouldered but he was also humble and soft-spoken. When he did speak, he did so eloquently, even when ordering. He was painfully shy but he was so kind that Éponine could see why people were drawn to him. The second was Bahorel. Apparently, he had a habit of being late. He also had a habit of missing class, Éponine assumed, because he didn't even have to ask Courfeyrac for his notes; the classmate just handed them over.

The third was Bousset, who Éponine hadn't met till her fourth day. He had gotten back into town the day before, but had managed to lock his keys in the car and had to wait for a locksmith. And despite having spilled his coffee at least twice within an hour-long period, he still remained in good spirits. Bossuet told her that, although always unlucky, at least his life wasn't boring. The fourth was Feuilly. In only one conversation Éponine shared with him, she could tell he was a patriot. He spoke of France as if she were his mother. In fact, France was all he spoke of.

The boys had all taken a liking to her as well. They appreciated her common sense and her knowledge of everyday life for the average citizen of Paris. Grantaire especially appreciated her realistic ideals and her lack of expectations for the changes of society. Éponine couldn't help but to notice how Enjolras was the only one not outgoing or friendly towards her; he rarely even made eye contact.

* * *

It was her fifth day of work. It was dark outside, and most of the shops around were closing. Musichetta was out with Joly once again, leaving Éponine the responsibility of closing the shop. She was nervous. Her past responsibilities were more about sneaking in and out of homes unnoticed.

Éponine seriously doubted that anyone else would enter the shop, but Musichetta insisted that they couldn't close till eleven. "With a university just down the road," she said, "you never know who's gonna come in here at ten-thirty needing all the coffee we have in store."

It was ten-forty-five. Everyone had left, even all of the Les Amis. Except for Enjolras, who was reading intently from a textbook. Éponine had already wiped down all the tables- except for the one Enjolras was studying at- stored away all the coffee, and swept the floor twice. And still there were no college students bursting through the door, desperate to pull an all-nighter. So she stood behind the counter, drumming her fingers. For a moment she started dreaming about what Marius might be up to, but she realized that he was probably with Cosette and didn't wish to linger on the idea any longer.

A man entered the shop, jolting Éponine from her daydreams. His hood didn't allow for anyone to recognize his face, but Éponine knew who it was anyway.

"Claquesous," Éponine said. A feeling of dread washed over her. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Relax, Thénadier," he said, pulling his hood down. His dark, deep-set eyes shadowed his face. It was almost as if he was wearing a mask. "I brought you a present." From his back pocket he pulled out a little plastic bag of white powder and tossed it at Éponine. She caught it as a reflex, but upon realizing what it was, she shoved it into her jeans as quickly as possible.

She turned to Enjolras, who was still sitting in the back of the room. He was watching them, and Éponine was almost sure he had seen the exchange. "I don't do that anymore, Claquesous," she hissed.

Claquesous took notice of Enjolras as well. "Oh really? Gone a few months and you're already in bed with the rich?"

"Why couldn't you just leave me alone?"

"I have news," Claquesous replied, a bit of a smirk on his face.

Éponine's stomach lurched. News on the street was always bad. The fact that it was something that made Claquesous smirk meant it was even worse.

"It's about your sister."

"She's in juvie," Éponine replied coolly. Claquesous wanted to distress her, but Éponine wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.

"Yeah, well she's getting out."

Éponine couldn't stay composed at such news. She let out a small gasp, but tried her best to collect herself. She pretended to absentmindedly scrub at a small stain on the counter. "…And? I assume Azelma is just going back in with our parents, isn't she?"

"Actually, I heard she was thinking about moving in with Montparnasse."

Something had snapped inside Éponine. This wasn't worry, not anymore; this was fury. "Get out."

A clattering came from the back of the room. Enjolras had stood abruptly, knocking over his chair.

Claquesous's smirk broadened to a grin. He backed towards the door, his eyes shifting between Enjolras and Éponine. "You know, I'm sure he'd take you back. If you begged," he said, and left the shop.

Éponine took a couple of deep breaths, but she was unable to compose her rage. She grabbed the closest object to her, a mug, and threw it at the spot where Claquesous's head had just been. It shattered violently against the wall.

She remained behind the counter, her chest heaving. Enjolras took a couple of quick strides towards the direction of the door and knelt to pick up the shards. This seemed to shake Éponine from her haze, and she joined him. "I'm sorry, it's just Claquesous, he…" Éponine began. She looked up at him. He was watching her, but the minute they made eye contact he adverted his eyes and returned to picking up the pieces.

"No, it's fine."

"No, really. I mean, the guy just knows how to get under my skin—ow!" she had been picking up the fragments with her left hand and placing them into her right, but she had closed her right hand around the shards. She hadn't realized what she had done until her hand began to bleed.

"I'll call Joly, he can get them out—"

"No, really, it's not a big deal, I can get it myself—"

"No, stop, Éponine. You're gonna make it worse—"

"I've gotten glass out before, it's really not that bad anyway—"

The continued to interrupt each other for at least a minute, all the while she plucked at her hand. Finally, Enjolras had had enough. "'Ponine, stop!"

The use of her nickname got her attention. She stopped picking at her hand, which had bled even more to stain her shirt, jeans, and even the floor.

"Just let me call Joly, okay?" he said, a bit less harsh. He started to pull out his phone, but it wasn't necessary. The young student entered from the back room. He and Musichetta were laughing about something, and it must have been particularly funny because it took them a moment to realize they weren't alone.

"Éponine, dear! I figured you would have already closed and left for the night! Oh my god, what happened?" The young café owner rushed over to her employee.

Éponine turned to Enjolras, who was watching her again. Éponine was usually quick with a response, so why was it taking her so long tonight?

"I tripped," Enjolras offered, turning to face Joly. "Wasn't really paying attention. I guess the mug just slipped. Sorry," he added to Musichetta.

"Oh, it's just a mug," she waved. "But Éponine, your poor hand."

"Here, Éponine," Joly said, pulling out a chair for her. "I've got a first aid kit in the back."

"That's really not—" Éponine didn't see Enjolras roll his eyes, but she could feel it. "Thank you," she said, finally complying. Musichetta pulled up a chair beside Éponine, holding her uninjured hand and stroking her matted hair. Joly came back with a black bag. He washed his hands three times, then pulled up a chair across the table from Éponine.

He motioned for her to put her hand on the table. She hesitated, but obliged. She didn't really care for someone who was practically a stranger to be this close to her, especially her arms. You don't live on the streets without acquiring a few scars, and Éponine was no exception. Some were memories of generic cuts, others were track marks. Her parents and Montparnasse had even given her quite a few. She even had a chemical burn from a break-in gone wrong. She cursed herself for not wearing longer sleeves.

Joly, of course, didn't comment on any of these. In fact, the only time he did speak was to ask Musichetta to get him a bowl to put the glass splinters in. He worked with great care. Enjolras, meanwhile, continued working on getting the remaining pieces off the floor. Musichetta said she would take care of it, but he was nothing if not assertive.

It took Joly another fifteen minutes to stitch up the cuts—a step that Éponine again insisted wasn't necessary. Éponine was starting to realize that other people were beginning to look out for her. It wasn't just her and Gavroche anymore. Her family was growing. First it was just the Thénadiers, then it was the Thénadiers and the Patron-Minette, the crew that she was often entangled in, mostly because of Montparnasse but also because of her father.

Then she met Marius, and through him, Les Amis. The students weren't like the Patron-Minette. They didn't use her for her skills in pickpocketing. They didn't hit her, throw things at her, spit at her.

The idea of Éponine having friends was peculiar and a bit uncomfortable.

"All finished," Joly said, bringing her thoughts back into the café.

She thanked him, looking at her cloth-wrapped hand. The cuts burned a little, but she hardly noticed.

"Éponine, you should really head home," Musichetta said, patting her shoulder.

"But I haven't finished—"

"No, really. It's fine, dear. Me and Joly will take care of it. Enjolras will drive you home, won't you?" she gave a look to the revolutionary.

"I actually enjoy walking—" Éponine started.

"Well in that case, Enjolras has two legs that work perfectly fine. At least I would hope so, I always see him hopping on and off a stage to give a speech." The café owner was practically shooing them out the door.

"I—uh—okay," Éponine gave in for the third time that night. When she and Enjolras were outside, she turned to him and said, "Thank you. For not telling them about what really happened."

"Which way?" was all he said.

"You really don't have to walk me home."

"Which way?" he repeated.

"You're really stubborn, you know that?"

"Determined," Enjolras corrected. Éponine crossed her arms in frustration, and Enjolras smiled at that.

Éponine huffed and pointed to the left. The two of them began walking.

* * *

**A/N**: for those of us who aren't experts in narcotics, heroin comes in powder form. Also, track marks are what they call the marks left after using a syringe to shoot up. (Sorry if that's horribly depressing).

Oh you want to know what isn't as depressing? _More couples feel they can open up when walking then they can during basically any other type of activity._ *hint hint*

Of course, feel free to review or send me a PM. I love feedback! :) Thanks again for all you guys do!


	4. Everywhere You Go

**Trigger Warning: **references to drug abuse and domestic violence

**A/N:** Okay so I'm just telling you now that this isn't the best chapter I've written. I wrote it in about an hour. I just wanted to get it done because it's PetitSuisse's birthday and I love her and she wanted me to update. But yeah. Not great. Also I had finals and so I'm a little sleep deprived.

I'll make it up to you, though! I'll update within the next three days, okay? :)

Also I love reading your reviews! Thanks so much!

* * *

But you can't say what you want or  
Take what you want or  
Choose the moods that you fake when you want  
You said your life needed something special  
That you don't have  
Well aren't you glad

-Tyler Hilton, _Glad (Acoustic Version)_

* * *

Éponine shivered, but she was sweating. Her heart was beating even faster than usual. All she could think about was Marius, and how she hadn't seen him in days. For Éponine, an hour was too long to spend apart from him.

"Where are you going?" Enjolras said as the shabby girl turned into a dark alley.

"Short cut," she said, smirking. She had almost forgotten he was there, although most people would've found that hard to do. He wasn't a good shadow, not like her. He wasn't used to sneaking, slipping between crowds. He was more used to standing in front of them, leading.

"Marius never hesitated. You aren't afraid of the dark, are you?" she added. She couldn't help it; with Marius chasing after the lark, she had to let her irritation out somehow. Enjolras made an easy target. He was so uptight.

That was the twelfth time she said Marius's name in the span of fifteen minutes. Enjolras muttered something along the lines of _'For the love of Patria'_ and gestured for her to continue.

They made it about halfway down the alley before a group of five boys ran into them. They were young, about ten or twelve, but they hit them with such force that Enjolras and Éponine fell against the brick wall. "Hey!" Éponine shouted as they continued to run past. "Wallet."

"Sorry, 'Ponine," one of them said. It was her little brother, but he could hardly be recognized with the mud caked on his face. "I didn't know it was you. I just saw Enjolras's clothes and thought he probably had something on him. No offense."

Enjolras snorted. He probably thought it was funny that Gavroche saw being rich as an insult.

"It's probably because of the mud covering your eyes, 'Roche," Éponine said, taking Enjolras's wallet from the boy's outstretched hand.

As soon as Enjolras got his wallet back, he opened it and began to pull out several bills. "No," Éponine told him. He slowly slips his wallet away, a mixture of confusion and annoyance on his face. _Poor little rich boy, probably not used to being told 'no'_.

She bent down to Gavroche's level. It wasn't very far. _He's growing so fast. Soon he'll be taller than me._ "What were you using the money for?" she asked.

"Food," he said.

"You're the best liar I know, but I'm your sister."

"Oh, alright. Brujon is selling firecrackers."

Brujon was stupid enough that Gavroche could probably just swipe them, but she wasn't willing to risk him getting caught for a prank.

"Fine," she said, pulling out a few crumpled bills from her own pocket. She offered them to the boy, but as he reached out to take them, she jerked her hand away. "One condition," she said. "At least half of them have to be set off in front of papa's house."

"Deal," Gavroche agreed, grinning widely. He snatched the money from her hand and bolted off, the other boys following him.

"Save a couple for me!" Éponine called out. She had a feeling they didn't hear her, or at least would pretend not to.

"I thought Gavroche was with Courfeyrac tonight," Enjolras said, staring at the place where the boys had just been.

"Guess he changed his mind. Gavroche is going to do what he wants, no use trying to tell him otherwise."

"Family trait?"

Éponine snorted. She started walking again.

"Why didn't you let me give them money?" he asked. It had just a hint of accusation. He still wasn't looking at her.

"Don't hand a street kid money unless they ask you for it," Éponine told him.

"But they were just going to take it anyway."

"For a college student, you aren't very bright. There's a difference between stealing and begging. Begging is for desperation. But stealing is an art."

"An art?"

"Well, at least a skill. What, you don't believe me?"

"No, I believe you. I didn't even feel his hand in my pocket. I just hope that someday it's not a skill so many people feel they need to learn in order to survive."

Éponine rolled her eyes, but Enjolras didn't see.

"How much further?" he asked, sensing that she wasn't going to verbally reply.

"About fifteen minutes. Maybe you should just turn back. Or you could call a taxi and have it meet you when we get there. Honestly I don't know why you even bothered walking me home. You're going to have to walk all the way back."

"It's fine. But you seriously walk all this way?"

"Yep."

"Every day?"

"Yep."

"Even at night?"

"Well its night now, so… yep. You really didn't have to walk me home."

"So you keep saying."

They turned the corner back onto an actual street, where they passed several shops. In the windows of one store hung several nice dresses; Éponine stopped briefly to examine them and then continued walking.

"You know," she said, "I never understood why girls wear dresses so much. I mean, sure, they look nice, but they're so inconvenient. If they're tight then you can't really move in them, but if they're loose then they just get annoying. And they're never the right length. Plus, could you imagine me walking all the way to work in a dress? Ha."

She continued on like this for a couple of minutes. Finally annoyed with his silence, she stopped and turned to him. "I don't get you."

"What?"

"You go to all these meetings, and you talk to your friends or followers or whatever, and you have these conversations that last hours. And now you're walking me home, and it's like all you've said to me has been about my brother's habits. So are you actually a talkative person or are you quiet or do you just not like me?"

"It's nothing against you personally. It's just that I don't have anything to say about Marius or dresses, which are the only two things you've really talked about."

"So politics is the only thing you talk about then?"

Enjolras shrugged, but he didn't deny it.

Éponine wasn't used to feeling awkward. She never really cared what people thought, nobody except Marius, anyway. Maybe because she spent so much time trying not to be seen. But if this was really his impression of her….

They spent the rest of the walk home in silence.

Finally they reached the rundown apartment. The sides of the building were tagged with graffiti, and some of the windows were covered in plastic, the landlords being too lazy to fix them. The inside wasn't much better.

"Well… this is me."

"Do you want me to walk you up?"

"No, really. You've done enough. I think I can make it from here."

"'Kay, well… I hope your hand gets better."

She looked down at the wrapped limb. She had completely forgotten that she had cut it open just an hour before. It barely even hurt. "Thanks," she said. Éponine entered the building, not at all comfortable with how she said goodbye.

* * *

With her uninjured hand, Éponine dug the contents of her pockets out and threw them onto the grimy counter. There was a few bills she got in tips, some pocket lint, a wrapper… and the little plastic bag of heroin that Claquesous gave her.

She stared at it. Just its presence made her… angry? No. Anxious. It made her anxious. She should just dump it down the sink. That would be the smartest thing to do.

_How much is this even worth?_ Probably a lot. She didn't really know. Montparnasse was the one who usually bought it for her. But it could probably pay for a week's worth of food for Gavroche. Courfeyrac had been feeding him often, but it wasn't fair for the student to have to take care of him. She didn't like having to rely on anyone.

She could sell it. She could sell it by tomorrow and not have to worry about her brother's empty stomach, at least for a little while longer. She grabbed the packet off the counter. It burned in her hand. She went to her bedroom. It was bare; there was a mattress on the ground and a couple of messy piles of clothes. _Where to put it?_ She lifted her mattress and dropped it. That would have to do for now.


	5. I'm Still Stuck

**A/N:** So there's a bit of language in this one. I don't know if it makes any difference, but I thought I'd offer a warning.

I wanted this up about twelve hours ago. But guess what? My Microsoft Word crashed. And I lost the entire chapter. So I've been rewriting it on and off all day.

If you think I'm trying to make you pity me so you'll review, you're right. Just kidding. Sort of.

It's a bit of a filler... we get to the good stuff next week.

Enjoy!

* * *

And now you are hurt, and you are sure I could not be hurt too  
And just because you're bleeding you think that I'm not bleeding  
And just because you're full of yourself doesn't mean I'm not full of you

-Wakey!Wakey!, _Car Crash_

* * *

Jehan and Barhorel entered together. Bahorel was looking extremely frustrated, and Jehan was apologizing profusely.

"What happened?" Combeferre asked. He, Enjolras, and Feuilly were the first to arrive at Musain, and were already seated.

"_Somebody _found a dead bird on the side of the road. We had to stop to give it a proper funeral," Bahorel answered, crossing his arms and giving a stern sideways glance to his friend.

"Well we couldn't just leave its poor body sitting there, decomposing like a used napkin for the world to see. It deserved to rest in peace," Jehan told them.

"_It was a fucking pigeon,"_ Bahorel spat.

Courfeyrac had been sitting in the opposite corner, sucking face with a girl who's name—Éponine could rightfully assume—Courfeyrac didn't himself know. But the girl was leaving, so he turned to his friend and said, "Bahorel, we all know you're late all the time anyway. I don't see how it makes a difference."

Bahorel would have argued that if he could.

Éponine brought Jehan and Bahorel their usual drinks as they sat down. Despite being new to the job, she caught on fast and had almost everyone's drink memorized by now. It was helpful that not only did they get the same thing every time, but their drinks seemed to complement their personalities.

Grantaire was the next to stumble in, clutching his temples in his palms. "Christ, Ep, do you have anything for a hangover?"

"More beer," Éponine said, already pulling out the bottle from the fridge underneath the counter.

"I like the way you think," he said, raising the glass to her before chugging it. She was already in the process of getting him another one when he went to sit with his friends.

While handing Grantaire the beer, Combeferre took notice of Eponine's bandaged hand. "What happened?" he asked, motioning towards the wound.

"Oh. That." She pulled down her sleeve. She had been doing a fairly good job of keeping it covered until then. "It's nothing."

"Anyone we need to beat up?" Bahorel offered.

Éponine laughed, and Enjolras looked up. But he didn't look at her, she noted for the hundredth time that day. It wasn't as if he just happened to not look at her. He was purposely avoiding her gaze.

"No," she said. "I just dropped a mug. Cut myself picking up the pieces."

"I thought Enjolras was the one that dropped it," a voice said from behind her. It was Joly, who just arrived with Bossuet.

"I was handing it to her," Enjolras said, looking at his friend. _Still not looking at me. _"We both sort of dropped it."

"That sounds like something I would do," Bossuet said.

"Except you'd fall face-first into the pieces and put your eye out," said Joly, laughing.

The prematurely-balding man nodded in agreement.

"Do you want me to take a look at your hand after the meeting?" Joly said to her.

Éponine nodded, even though that's exactly the opposite of what she wanted. She was finding increasingly difficult to say 'no' these days, particularly to the Les Amis. To be fair, they didn't usually ask for much more than an opinion, which she shared freely anyway. And there was really only one person she wouldn't dream of saying 'no' to.

As if on cue, Marius walked through the door.

He was beaming. There was no other word to describe it. Éponine was delighted, delighted and crushed at the same time. Because her friend was happy, but it was another girl's doing.

"Marius!" she exclaimed.

"Éponine!" he practically skipped over to her and the boys. He grabbed her tightly, practically lifting her off of the ground. Her skin tingled all over.

"I have to tell you about Cosette! She's perfect, perfect in every way!" he laughed.

Her skin went from tingling to burning.

"Sit down, Marius, and tell us about her," Grantaire said. He couldn't have cared less about the boy's heart, but he knew it would irritate everyone else to no end. The pleasure he got from annoying the other boys, particularly their leader, far outweighed his general dislike for Marius's tendency to overshare his feelings.

"She's almost too spectacular to describe. She's humble, and kind, and funny—"

"Oh, really?" Grantaire chimed in. "Do tell us more." He propped his elbows on the table and rested his face in his hands, apparently seeking to dive further into the topic. Bahorel flicked him in the ear.

Marius, though, was too filled with thoughts of his love to realize Grantaire was teasing. "She's… well… she's like… it's like…" Marius was hopeless at finding the right words. "She's like something from a dream," he said.

Éponine didn't mean to, but she audibly scoffed. The boys all looked at her—except Marius, who was too lost in his daydreams, and Enjolras, whose excuse she didn't know, except that maybe he was too focused on his notes.

"Marius, maybe now's not the best time," Courfeyrac said. Marius may have been his best friend, but he knew no one else really cared about his situation. Not at the moment, anyway.

"You're with a different girl almost every night," Marius said, a little defensive. "Nobody ever says anything to you."

"Probably because he's with a _different_ one every night," Bahorel answered.

"That sounds lonely," Jehan whispered.

Combeferre sighed, rubbing his forehead.

"Can we get back to France, guys?" Feuilly said.

"Yeah, guys, knock it off. You're going to upset the delicate internal balance of our temperate, if not secretly sentimental, leader," Grantaire said.

"I don't think 'temperate' is the right word, R," Bossuet said.

"I'm too drunk to care."

"I just wish you guys knew what it was like to know someone so wonderful, so… so _flawless_…."

Éponine swore she could she could see steam coming off of Enjolras's forehead. "Marius, we are sitting here _quite literally _planning on overthrowing the government. And you really want to talk about some girl you barely know? I think we've got bigger situations to discuss than your _feelings._" He said the last word with particular disdain.

Everyone but Marius watched as Éponine turned away and headed back to the bar, apparently done with the discussion herself.

Jehan and Bahorel were the first to leave. After a few cups of coffee—which Éponine may or may not have put whiskey in—Bahorel was no longer so irritated at his friend. Then was Feuilly, who had to work, and Bossuet, who had to take Grantaire home. The latter was, everyone else admitted, a bad idea; asking the man with the worst luck in the world to take a drunk home was really just asking for disaster. But somebody had to do it, and Bossuet was, as always, more than willing to help.

Enjolras was the next to leave, much earlier than usual. Granted, he usually left at closing. He shoved his notes into his bag, said goodbye to his friends, gave a quick nod to Éponine, and left. _Probably didn't want to get stuck walking me home again, _Éponine thought. _At least he finally looked at me. _

Éponine was used to being ignored. She lived on the streets for half her life, after all. She was used to people avoiding her gaze. But those people were usually strangers. Every other member of Les Amis was nice to her; she was almost comfortable with the term 'friend'. _So what the hell is his problem? _

When it was almost closing time, and Éponine could safely assume that no other customers would be bursting through the door, she allowed Joly to examine her hand. Combeferre asked if he could watch the medical student work, not because he had any special interest in the medical field, but rather because he just liked the general idea of learning.

This was actually more convenient for Éponine, because she wanted to get both of their thoughts.

"So… um… can I get your guys' help on something?" she began awkwardly. She was sitting across the table from the two men.

Joly looked up, a bit startled. "I seriously doubt either of us could be of much assistance," he gulped.

"But we'll try," Combeferre added calmly.

_They think it's about Marius. _"It's about my sister," she said. Joly's face seemed to relax a little. "She's getting out of juvie. In about a week, I think. I'm going to apply for custody tomorrow. Only, I'm not sure if I can figure out the paperwork. Would you two be willing to help me with it? If I need it? I'd ask Courfeyrac, but he's already done so much, and Marius is, well…."

Éponine hated asking for help. No, she _loathed _it. It went against everything she was taught. But this was her sister, who she loved. And she knew that sometimes we do stupid, detestable things for the people we love.

"Well, sure," Joly said. "But didn't you already go through it with Gavroche?"

Éponine snorted. "Gavroche doesn't belong to anyone. He crashes at my place sometimes, that's it." Actually, he stayed over every night he wasn't with Courfeyrac. But she had no legal documents to show her guardianship. Anything the school had was faked, which wasn't hard to do with her connections.

"I think Enjolras could help you better than either of us," Combeferre said. "He's the law student, after all."

Éponine's eyebrow twitched. "I don't think he'd want to help me."

"Why not? Enjolras wants to help everyone. That's kind of his problem," Combeferre said.

"I think he wants to help strangers. But not me. I don't think he likes me very much."

Combeferre chuckled. "He gives everyone that impression. He just has a really hard time making friends, to be honest. He's too focused on his universal ideas; I think he sometimes forgets to treat us as individuals."

Éponine nodded. She agreed with Combeferre's statement, but didn't really think it applied to her situation.

"It doesn't help that you're a girl," Joly said, barely a whisper.

"What?" Combeferre asked.

"Nothing," Joly said quickly. "All done," he told Éponine, giving her back her rewrapped hand. "Looks fine."

"Oh, okay. Thanks," she said, standing.

With only five minutes left till close, Éponine began to stack the chairs on the tables. Combeferre's phone suddenly went off, startling Éponine. For some reason, he didn't really strike her as the type of person who believed in having a phone. She overheard a few pieces; "Yeah, yeah I am… yeah… Joly or I could just… you sure?... yeah, okay, I'll ask."

Éponine turned to the young philosopher. "Hey, 'Ponine, Enjolras is on the phone. He wants to know if you want a ride home. He says he refuses to walk though?" Combeferre said the last part as a question, apparently ignorant of last night's events.

_No. Hell no. No thanks. God, no. Nope. Nononono. _"Sure."

* * *

**A/N:**

That probably seemed pretty out of character, no? Don't worry, I'm gonna make it work (or at least try really hard to).

You can't actually think I'd make him all sentimental now?

_Ha. _

Again, sorry about the filler-ness of it all.

Until next time!


	6. What You Ask

**Trigger Warning**: violence and drug use

**A/N:** I know I post the trigger warning every time, but these next few chapters could be getting grittier (I won't know until I write them, but I'm letting you know now).

Anyway, on to something happier-

Wow a hundred of you guys want to read more? Words cannot describe how grateful I am. Honestly, I hope you all find a hundred dollars tomorrow when you're walking down the street, because y'all deserve it.

Oh, another (hopefully!) happy thing- I was going to make this chapter really long, but I decided to cut it into two- with the second part almost done (I should be finishing tonight!). You know what that means? A quick update! Yay!

Again, thank you all so much.

Enjoy!

* * *

The cinders, they splinter  
And light the path  
And these strange steps  
Trace us back, trace us back

Flow sweetly, hang heavy  
You suddenly complete me  
You suddenly complete me

-Yeah Yeah Yeahs, _Hysteric_

* * *

"So, not to sound ungrateful or anything, but um… why are you giving me a ride?" Éponine asked, climbing into Enjolras's car. The front was clean, maybe overly so, but the back was cluttered with textbooks and legal documents.

"Well… I'd do it for any of the guys. Only a few of us have cars so we all give rides a lot. And I think they basically consider you one of us by now."

_Oh. _"So, if none of my usual subjects interest you, what _do_ you want to talk about?"

Enjolras shrugged, which invited a loud sigh from Éponine. "What? I just don't think you'd be interested in anything I have to say."

"Why, because it's all about your revolution?"

"France's revolution, actually."

Éponine snorted. "You're honestly telling me you don't do anything else all day, except go to school and sit around and talk about anarchy."

"That's not how I would have worded it at all."

"You don't drink, or go to parties, or hook up with girls, or watch sports…."

"I think you've been spending too much time with Grantaire."

"Your life centers around this fight. Why? Why is it so important to you?"

"Why isn't it important to you? I figured you of all people would want this."

Éponine could feel a cold sweat beginning in her hands and face. She knew it was obvious when they looked at her: underfed, sunken skin, ratted hair. There was also the issue of her wearing the same pair of jeans every day to work. Sometimes her street accent still showed through, although it had been becoming less of a problem since getting a job at Musain.

Still, she was more than a bit irritated at him commenting on her life. Admittedly, her annoyance was irrational, since she touched on the subject herself last night. "That was a low blow."

He seemed to have realized what he said. "I didn't mean that as an insult—"

"Forget it. I just don't get why a bunch of rich schoolboys are fighting for street kids who don't give a shit about you, but whatever." She thought about adding 'no offense' at the end, but she wouldn't have meant it.

"But that's just it, isn't it?" He flicked a blonde curl from his forehead, and for a moment Éponine caught a glimpse of how young he was. He was so busy acting in control, trying to lead the men, that she forgot he was only about twenty. "Nobody gives a shit about anybody. The rich are exploiting the poor, the poor are too busy trying to survive to notice, and everybody forgets that we're all human. We're one of the world's most developed countries, yet children are starving to death while politicians are buying yachts. If the people knew, really _knew-_" he trailed off. "The point is, until the poor are released from the oppression of those in power, none of us are really free."

Éponine finally understood what the rest of the Les Amis saw in him. It wasn't the words he said—they were, admittedly, fairly average—but the way he said them. It was his pure passion for the cause. It didn't matter if she believed what he was saying, because _he _believed it. She swallowed hard. _Éponine, you're getting sentimental. _"Idealism like that will get you killed," she told him.

"Probably," he agreed. He stated it so factually it made Éponine shiver just slightly.

"And what do you think will happen? If your revolution fails?"

"They'd see the revolt as treason. If we're lucky, we'd go to jail for the rest of our lives."

"And that's okay with you?"

"The guys and I have talked about it. The cause is worth much more than our lives. We are nothing compared to the good of this country." Again, he was almost impassive about the idea. It was a reality he had obviously accepted.

"I wish I were able to afford to think like that. There are maybe only two people in the world I would die for, but never a stranger."

He didn't reply, so she watched him drive. She didn't have her license, but Marius used to drive her sometimes. He was attentive, painfully so, and never once went a notch above the speed limit. His stops were complete and his turns slow. His eyes hadn't left the road since she had gotten into the car.

"You hate the government, yet you study law and can't even break the speed limit. You're a bit of a contradiction," Éponine observed.

"Says the girl who cares too much but not at all."

"Oh, so you have noticed me? I thought you've been ignoring me this whole time." Embarrassing him was the only way she knew how to pay him back for his comment.

It worked too, because his face reddened enough for Éponine to notice, even in the dark.

"What's this I see? Are you expressing an emotion irrelevant to politics?" Éponine smirked.

"I'm not—"

He didn't have time to defend himself, because he had pulled up to Eponine's gritty apartment. "Thanks for the ride!" she said quickly. She was determined to have the last word.

"Wait!" he said, turning to her as she was awkwardly half-in, half-out of the car.

"What?"

"Marius and I are leading a rally tomorrow morning. He's never done one before. It's at the university. I'm sure you're probably angry with him—not that he would see that if you punched him in the face—but I think he could really use your support."

Éponine nodded slowly. _Why didn't he tell me himself? _ "I'm not angry at him. I'm happy for him, really. Yeah, I'll go."

"Okay. Ten tomorrow."

_That's so early, _she groaned internally. "I'll be there."

She sprinted up to her apartment. When she was in, she peered through her grimy blinds to make sure he had left. When she could confirm that he was gone, she grabbed the packet from underneath her mattress and left her apartment just as fast.

* * *

It wasn't just Montparnasse who was there, but all of the Patron-Minette. Claquesous, most of his face shadowed by his hood, sat on the couch with his legs propped up on the coffee table. Babet, clever but a bit greasy, was casually leaned up against the back wall, a look of apparent apathy on his face. Brujon, a giant of a man, cracked his knuckles.

"What, are you trying to intimidate me?" Éponine laughed. "You know my father. You know I can't be scared."

"What could have possibly brought you back here, Éponine?" Montparnasse smirked. Éponine wanted nothing more than to wipe it off his face.

"This," she said, digging the plastic packet and throwing it onto the coffee table.

Montparnasse plucked it off the table, chuckling at some joke only he knew the punch line to.

"I know it's worth something," she told him.

"Ah, so those bourgeoisie boys not paying your bills yet? Why not just grab a couple wallets? That's all you're good for anyway. Or is it because you've started to miss me?" he snickered.

"One other thing. Stay the hell away from my sister."

"Ah, but she _wants _to come here. And the Thénadiers always do what they want. Don't you get it, 'Ponine? She'd actually be grateful to live here. So much more comfortable than anywhere else. More freedom than your parents' house, and she'd get more attention here too. Let's face it, you're too busy chasing after that scrawny little rich boy who's too good for you. Come to think of it, I _did_ see him with that blonde the other day…."

Éponine was shaking with rage. Her fingernails pressed hard into her palms, forgetting her wound from a couple of days ago until she felt one of the stitches break.

He closed the distance between them with a few quick strides. He would have been handsome, with his dark hair and pretty face, had it not been for his personality, which was just too easy to hate. He shoved the powder back into the front pocket of her jeans, smirk still plastered on his face. "Next time," he said, leaning in to her ear, "don't return a gift. It's rude."

She could see the redness around his nose, the traces of whatever he snorted last. _This was stupid of you, 'Ponine. _She set her jaw and turned to the door. She was almost out when she heard Montparnasse say, barely above a whisper, "I'll tell your sister you say hi."

Éponine had been fighting her impulses this whole time, but she couldn't take it anymore. She crossed the room in no more than a second and raised her fist. But Montparnasse had expected this reaction, was maybe even wanting it. He caught her fist with one hand and retaliated with the other. Éponine wasn't hurt, but it was enough to startle her.

"Brujon, get her out of here," he told the giant.

He obliged, picking her up easily although she fought him, kicking and scratching. He—quite literally—threw her out onto the front step and slammed the door. She spat at the spot where his face had just been.

She'd get them back. She wasn't sure how, but she would.

Éponine stepped off the porch and onto the street. She could have turned right, to go back home, but instead turned left towards her friend's house.


	7. It Burned Wild

All those times we looked up at the sky  
Looking out so far, it felt like we could fly  
And now I'm all alone in the dark of night  
And the moon is shining, but I can't see the light.

-Grace Potter and the Nocturnals, _Stars_

* * *

Éponine knocked again. And again. Finally she heard the faint "coming!" from the back of the apartment. _About damn time._

Marius opened the door just enough to see the raggedy girl. Éponine thought there was something endearing about the way his hair was ruffled and couldn't ever stay in place. "Still unable to dress yourself, I see," she said, commenting on how his shirt wasn't buttoned properly.

"Oh." He adjusted his shirt quickly. "What are you doing here, 'Ponine?"

She loved it when he used her nickname. The other boys did it too, but he and Gavroche were the first two to use it. And somehow it just sounded perfect coming from his mouth.

"I haven't seen you all week! Can't I just stop by to say hi? Besides, you didn't even tell me you were giving a speech tomorrow!" she punched him playfully on the shoulder.

"'Ponine, it's past midnight," he said. "What happened to your face?"

"Oh, it's nothing, just a scratch."

He still wasn't moving from the doorway.

Éponine couldn't believe it took her that long to realize what was happening. "You're with her, aren't you?" She tried to make her statement sound like an accusation, but she just couldn't find the energy.

"Éponine…."

"Okay. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to just barge in here… I'm just gonna go." She turned to leave.

"Wait, Éponine." Every time she walked away from him, she hoped to hear those words. But she had a feeling what was going to come after them wasn't all she had dreamed.

"Do you at least want me to call a cab for you?"

_You're killing me, Marius. _"No, it's fine. I like walking."

"It's not very safe."

"So I've been told."

* * *

Éponine shuddered. Why was it so cold? _It's the middle of the night, of course it's cold. Idiot. _Even in a city so big as Paris, there was barely anybody out. Maybe in the nicer parts of town there were tourists, couples still out getting drinks. But here there was no one, except those who slept on the streets.

"Éponine? Heeeyyyyy!" the greeting was dragged out by a slurred voice. _Well, the homeless and the drunkards, _Éponine corrected herself. _Maybe if I just keep walking he'll forget he even saw me._

"Éponine!" _Shit. _She turned to face Grantaire. She had a soft spot for the alcoholic, really—something about his constant annoying behavior and blatant cynicism made him that much more likeable. And his tendency for mischievous behavior reminded him fondly of her brother. But tonight, she wasn't in the mood for his obnoxious, moronic ways.

"Whoa, what happened to your face?" he reached up to touch the red mark on her cheek. She had forgotten about it until just now. One more thing to be annoyed by.

"Grantaire, now's really not the best time."

"You know what I think? I think you need a drink."

"I'm not supposed to—"

"'Not supposed to'? High and mighty tonight, aren't we? You sound like Enjolras."

Her deterrence from alcohol had nothing to do with self-righteousness. Still, Éponine accepted that comparison as a challenge. "Fine."

"Oh yeah! Come on, I live just down here."

_This is the worst decision you've made all day. And you've made at least three _really _bad decisions._

"Don't worry, I'm not going to get you _really _drunk. Just a little drunk."

Éponine didn't reply. She wasn't feeling particularly social. She just wanted a goddamn drink.

* * *

Grantaire's apartment wasn't exactly spotless, but it was cleaner than she expected. Besides a few crumbs and a piece of clothing here or there, it was neat enough. He grabbed a couple of shotglasses off the counter; he used them too much to bother putting them away. He hadn't even opened a bottle before his phone went off.

He fumbled with the buttons a couple of times before he picked up the call. "Hello? Hold on bro, I'm gonna put you on speakerphone."

He pushed a button and set the phone on the counter, which was just a little sticky (but enough to upset Joly). "No, don't put me on speakerphone," said the voice on the other line. It was Enjolras.

"Too late."

"Grantaire…" Éponine heard a loud sigh come from the phone. "I was just calling to remind you of the rally tomorrow."

"Christ, for the seventh time, I know."

"We need you there."

"I know!"

"Last time you slept through the entire thing."

"I know bro, but don't worry. I set, like, five alarms. It's gonna be fine."

"You did that last time! Who are you even with?"

"Éponine. Believe it or not, some of us actually have fun."

"What's she doing there?"

"Drinking. What the hell else am I good for?" Grantaire lost his balance, almost hitting his phone with his palm. "Shit! Oh. Just kidding, we're good."

"But I dropped her off like an hour ago," Enjolras replied, ignoring his friend's side-comment.

"You're on speakerphone, I _can_ hear you," Éponine interjected. "And I went for a walk."

"You 'went for a walk'? I drove you home so you wouldn't have to walk."

Grantaire gave her a look, which Éponine reciprocated with a silently-mouthed expletive.

"I dunno, Enjolras," Grantaire said, grinning. "If Bahorel and her got into a street fight, she'd probably win."

Enjolras made a noise of annoyance, somewhere between a sigh and a grunt.

"Unless Bahorel talked me to death first," Éponine said.

"You, mademoiselle, have just earned your first shot." He popped off the lid of the bottle with relative ease, especially given his already inebriated condition, and poured the shot for her.

She downed it in one gulp, coughing only a little.

"Bro, you have to see this! 'Ponine totally knows how to do shots!" Grantaire was a bit too happy.

"It's almost one in the morning. We have to be there before ten. You guys need to go to bed."

"I'm too sober to sleep," Grantaire said, although he could barely stand.

"He's so bossy," Éponine said, barely above a whisper so Enjolras couldn't hear. That earned her another shot. Her arms were already starting to tingle; she hadn't eaten since this morning, and she was so underfed as it was.

"Well, we're gonna go have fun, so unless you're gonna join us, I'm hanging up now," Grantaire said loudly into the phone. Before his friend could protest, he hung up.

"What's his problem?" asked Éponine, somewhat seriously.

"He's just _really_ dedicated."

_More like obsessive. _

"You gotta admire his commitment, though," Grantaire said.

Éponine took another shot. Montparnasse, Marius, Enjolras—she needed to forget all of them. "Um don't you think…" began Grantaire, but she gave him a look. "Okay, never mind. I assume you'll be sleeping on my couch tonight then?"

* * *

"'Ponine, hey 'Ponine!" Grantaire was standing above Éponine, shaking her awake.

"Oh my god," Éponine said, turning to her side just as she went into a coughing fit. The awful combination of morning breath and alcohol coated the inside of her cheeks. Her back was sore from sleeping in such an awkward position on the couch.

"I've never met somebody who got drunk so fast. It was awesome," he said, laughing.

She stood slowly, bile creeping up her throat. Her muscles were shaking violently. "I don't even remember—"

"There's not a lot to remember, you had like four shots and passed out."

Éponine looked down at her shirt, which was on inside-out and backwards. "Oh god, we didn't… you know…" she motioned between them.

"What? Oh! Oh god, no. No, no, no. I don't know how that-" he motioned to her shirt— "happened but no."

"Oh thank god."

"I would never- not with you—"

"No I get it—"

"I think of you like a sister—"

The awkwardness was broken with the sound of Grantaire's phone ringing. He checked the caller ID, rolled his eyes, and answered. "Yeah, bro. Yes, I'm up. Yeah, we're almost ready. It's only, like, nine. We'll totally be there in time. What? Oh, yeah, she's up, too. Marius is what? Oh, yeah, he gets like that sometimes, doesn't he?"

"_What?_" Éponine mouthed.

Grantaire covered his phone with one hand so he could reply to Éponine. "I dunno, I get Marius is just getting on Enjolras's nerves or something."

"Well who _doesn't _get on his nerves," Éponine said. "He's so…" she couldn't find the right word,

Grantaire nodded, then went back to talking to his friend. "Okay. We're going right now. We'll probably stop for coffee or something though, I think 'Ponine needs it. Okay. We're leaving. Yes, now! No, I'm not lying! I swear to god, we're literally walking out the door. Okay, okay I'm going now. Bye."

"Do you always hang up on him?"

"Actually, he usually hangs up on me."

"I don't blame him," Éponine said.

Grantaire laughed. "Okay, we should really go though. As much as I love irritating him, I'm too hungover to deal with it. I'll buy you coffee on the way, yeah?"

Éponine nodded. "Yeah, I just… gotta fix my shirt. Bathroom?"

Grantaire pointed.

Éponine went to the bathroom, which was actually quite large, and fixed her shirt. She also scrubbed her face and put her hair into a semi-acceptable bun. She wasn't sure she was ready to go out and face Marius after last night. The alcohol was supposed to make her feel better. And maybe it did last night, but she couldn't remember. Now she felt worse than she did last night. The shots had just dropped her mood further. But she needed to support Marius. And she was, admittedly, interested to hear was Enjolras had to say, too.

"Are you ready yet?" Grantaire called from the living room.

"Yeah, coming!"

* * *

**A/N:** Hey there! As always, I cannot emphasize enough how much I love hearing your guys' thoughts and opinions. And I'm forever grateful for the support.

Bit of a filler chapter, no? But can I say that I'm pretty excited for the next chapter?

(Am I even allowed to say that? I dunno, but I am).

Well, looks like I'll be going to watch Les Mis for the third time... Until next time!


	8. Cold Corruption

**A/N**: Hey everyone!

Thank you so much for all the reviews on the last chapter! They all really mean a lot to me! It sounds like you guys enjoyed it; I'm glad.

I'm leaving tonight for a trip for a few days, which means I plan on doing lots of writing while I'm gone! I can't wait to update again (which is your guys' fault for being so nice to me).

I wrote this chapter in a rush because I wanted to update before I had to go- so I didn't have anyone edit it. Just a warning.

The lyrics I post are usually just ones I have from my writing playlist that I feel fit the chapter. Consider it recommended listening. But I especially recommend this song. It gives me lots of Les Mis feels.

Do you guys think the E/E is going too slow? I have it planned as picking up a lot in the next couple chapters anyway, but I'm curious to what you guys think.

Thanks for your continued support!

And sorry. Just... sorry.

* * *

Find a place to put your hope in  
See how they open up the gates  
for those who push them over  
Uh oh, the cold composure  
I'm not afraid to die tonight, I'm not afraid to...

-House of Heroes, _Buckets for Bullet Wounds_

* * *

The coffee was a bad idea. The combination of milk and acidity created an unholy mixture that made Éponine even more nauseas, although she hadn't thought it was possible. Still, she drank it, because Grantaire bought it for her and she didn't want to seem ungrateful. At least her nausea matched her current mood of self-hatred.

The square at the edge of the university was packed. Éponine hadn't been expecting more than a couple dozen people, but there were at least a hundred. And there weren't just students, either. Older men and women, some with young children, also gathered in the square. Some wore nice suits and fancy dresses; others, tattered skirts and ripped jeans.

Marius and Enjolras were both on stage. She was nervous for Marius—she couldn't hear what he was saying, but she hoped it was being well-said. Enjolras, on the other hand, was apparently doing just fine. She could tell by the way his expressions, his arm movements, the way he leaned into the audience. How anyone considered him unemotional, she didn't know.

"Look at him! The blonde one! He's _so _hot!" she heard a girl say to her friend. She was, maybe, a couple years younger than Éponine.

"You're not his type," Éponine replied.

The girl looked more surprised than offended. "What's his type?" she asked.

"France," Grantaire said, laughing. He pulled the two of them further into the crowd.

* * *

He saw her, at the edge of the crowd. She was standing right next to Grantaire. Of course they were late. He looked like his usual hungover self. She was in her clothes from yesterday, with the addition of one of Grantaire's jackets. For some reason, this irked him. He chalked it up to his mind making the jacket a metaphor for Grantaire's ridiculous, childish behavior.

Enjolras watched Grantaire lead Éponine through the crowd to the very center. If there was one thing Enjolras could count on Grantaire for, it was that he would get the crowd excited. Second to tormenting him, this was the drunk's favorite thing to do. The girl, however, seemed too focused on Pontmercy to join him.

"How long can they get away with this?" He heard Courfeyrac shout from the crowd.

"How long can they hide behind their locked gates and golden walls?" Enjolras said to the crowd in reply. "How long before we bring them to our level, the level of the streets?" He allowed himself a small smile. "Citizens of France, I implore you to ask yourselves, when the power is in the hands of the few, are any of us really free?"

Even at a distance, he saw the unkempt girl's eyes flick up to him. Maybe she was paying attention after all.

Grantaire moved closer to the stage, and he saw another person trailing them. It was Gavroche. Grantaire picked him up and Enjolras bent down to help hoist him onto the stage. Éponine watched them do this, but her face was unreadable, neither approving or disagreeing.

"_Mesdames et Messieurs_, I give you Gavroche, leader of the streets!" Enjolras announced.

From his side, Pontmercy threw him a glance of bewilderment. _He'll get over it_, Enjolras decided.

* * *

Marius, Gavroche, and Enjolras were all off the stage. The rally was over, wasn't it? So why was everybody still standing around? The audience was starting to feel like a mob, everybody pushing and shouting. Éponine spotted Marius and tried to make her way towards him. When she was within arm's reach, another man came up to him. It was his grandfather, Monsieur Guillormand, looking as disappointed as ever. Éponine decided it was best not to interrupt and let the crowd swallow her back in.

She could hear sirens but couldn't see the police. She was too small and surrounded by too many tall men. Still, the gathering moved as an organism, shoving its way back from the loud shrieking. She heard it, quietly at first, a whisper barely audible around the general buzz of the crowd. "_Vive la France."_

It came from what could be called the front of the pack. She moved behind an elephant of a man and stood on her toes to see all the boys beginning to form a line between the people and the police. Again, she heard it. "_Vive la France."_

It began to grow louder. Others joined in, raising their fists. "_Vive la France!"_

Soon she was yelling it, too, although perhaps just because everyone else was. "Vive la France! Vive la France!"

She could hear her heartbeat throbbing in her ears. There was a sort of energetic frenzy that came with being a part of this rally. The air was thick and hard to swallow, and her vision was becoming blurred.

The mass was shoved back into an adjoining square, where police made no move to arrest anyone. Rather, their intention was just to break them up. The citizens dispersed frantically, still pushing and shoving.

It was only a matter of time before Éponine lost her balance and fell to the hard ground. Before she could realize what had happened, Enjolras was standing above her, holding out a hand to help her up. She ignored it and pushed herself to her feet.

"What did you think?" he asked, apparently unoffended by her rejection.

"Pretty words," she said.

He took this as a compliment, although she didn't necessarily mean it as so. Before he could discuss it with her further, Courfeyrac ran up to them.

"Hey, 'Ponine. Um, Enjolras, it's about Lemarque."

Enjolras nodded excused herself, taking the hint. She continued her search for Marius, but he found her first.

"'Ponine! Oh, thank heavens. I need a favor, 'Ponine."

"Anything for you," Éponine replied, smiling meekly at the idea.

He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and offered it to her. "I saw Cosette and her father. They were down the block, that way, in that old antique store. Slip this into her pocket. I know you can do it."

"Doesn't she have a phone? Can't you just text her or something?"

"Please, 'Ponine. Do this for me."

She looked up into his eyes, so desperate and needing. She couldn't say no if she had wanted to. But with taking the note from his hands came the realization that he would never do something like this for her.

She walked away from him without saying another word. She made her way down the block quite easily, most of the rally attendees having already spread. She hesitated when she came in front of the antique shop.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that Marius loved Cosette and not her. That her parents couldn't possibly care less. That the Les Amis cared more about an idea than her. That her sister was moving in with a man she despised. Éponine didn't deserve any of what had been given to her, but that's the way the world was.

She entered the store. From the counter, she could feel the shopkeeper glaring at her suspiciously. It didn't really bother Éponine though. There were worse reactions she could get.

She meandered down the aisles till she finally saw the lark. Éponine stopped, not sure if she could go through with this.

_It's for Marius. All you have to do is brush by her and drop the note in her purse. Easier than snatching a wallet, at least. _Still, she felt nauseas, and this time it had nothing to do with the hangover.

Éponine took a deep breath and pattered down the aisle. Cosette was examining two different vases with a determined look on her face. Éponine casually brushed up against Cosette and dropped the note in her purse without a sound.

"Oh, pardon me!" Cosette said, turning to Éponine.

_Shit. _"My fault," Éponine said, turning back to walk away.

"Which do you like better?" the lark asked her, hold the two vases for her to see. The one on the left was tall but plain. The one on the right was short, but was pretty and pink-tinted.

"You don't want my opinion," Éponine said, still trying to leave.

"Please! I'm completely torn."

_The sooner you answer the sooner you can get away. _"That one," she said, pointing to the tall one. "It may be plain, but it'll hold the flower stems better."

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking. Thank you, I'll definitely get this one then. I can just tie a ribbon around it or something."

Again, Éponine tried to walk away. "Wait, don't I know you? You look so familiar somehow…" Cosette said, stopping her.

"Doubtful," Éponine lied, shrugging.

"No, I'm sure of it. Like I used to know you a long time ago, like, uh… what's it called? Oh! Déjà vu. Like that."

Every ounce of Eponine's body was screaming to get away. _Please don't let her remember. _

"Oh! I got it! I saw you at that café, Café Musain! Just a few days ago. You make _really _good coffee. Oh, sorry, I'm sure you have somewhere to be. Anyway, thanks again for the help! I'll see you around!"

Éponine nodded and scampered away as fast as she could. She took the emptiest allies, not because they were safer (which they weren't) but because she could no longer face anyone.

Éponine seemed to have a talent for not getting what she wished though, because she turned a corner, and because she was looking at her feet, ran into the people she wished to see least of all.

"Éponine," her father hissed. He was surrounded by the members of the Patron Minette, but her mother was nowhere in sight. "Montparnasse told me you tried to come back to him. It was only a matter of time, after all."

She shot Montparnasse a look, who sneered in return.

Her father leaned in closer, his breath a mix of tobacco and alcohol. Éponine tried to back up, but her shoulder blades hit the brick behind her. "I got a job for you."

"Montparnasse lied," she said boldly. "I'm not coming back. I won't, not ever."

Her father grabbed her shoulders, shoving her further into the bricks. "No. You'll come crawling back. You always do." He let her go, spat at her feet, and walked away. The rest of them followed behind.

The last one to walk away was somebody she hadn't seen till now. A young girl, around fifteen, with big doe eyes that didn't fit her face and dirty hair. "Azelma?" Éponine said, barely above a whisper. "You're out?"

The girl nodded. Her face was the painful mixture of sadness and betrayal. Éponine reached out to the girl, but her sister just padded away, following their father.

Éponine wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly freezing although she still had Grantaire's coat. Her mind was consumed by only one thought; _I have no one. _

* * *

Enjolras and Combeferre stood in the dingy hospital room. The offensive scent of bleach was giving headaches to them both. Outside the door, Courfeyrac stood watch. They weren't supposed to be in here, but with Joly working as an intern and the entire building understaffed anyway, it was all to easy to get in.

On the bed lay the unconscious Lemarque, perhaps the only man that Enjolras could inspiration from. He was a friend to the people, the embodiment of what Enjolras's revolution stood for.

The door to the room burst open. "Joly? What is it?" Combeferre asked his friend.

Joly was hyperventilating, his lips already a shade of blue that matched his scrubs. He leaned over, trying to suck in as much oxygen as possible, but to no avail. "Musichetta... called... Éponine... work... didn't show..."

Courfeyrac came in, grabbing the panicked man's shoulders. "Joly, we don't understand what you're trying to say. Is she okay?"

Joly shook his head.

Enjolras made the quick few strides to his friend and leaned in to him. "Joly," his voice was as calm as it could be, "where is Eponine now?"

"Her... ah-ah-apartment," Joly choked out.

Enjolras was in his car before his friends could collect themselves.

* * *

**A/N:**

I didnt want to kill the mood by adding an A/N after this but I feel like I need to reassure you guys that this fic isn't going to end anytime soon, so don't worry too much.

*deep breaths*


	9. From the Breathing

'Cause lately I'm not dreaming  
So what's the point in sleeping?  
It's just that at night,  
I've got nowhere to hide

- Jack's Mannequin, _Hammers and Strings (A Lullaby)_

* * *

Enjolras parked his car illegally. If he got a ticket, he could argue it later. It wasn't important right now.

The apartment's landlord looked like the type of person to own such a run-down building; he was greasy, balding, and wearing a stained, too-small shirt. "Third floor, last door on the right," he said, not looking up from his computer. Apparently Enjolras wasn't the first one there.

He sprinted up the stairs and down the hall. Arriving at the room, he banged his fist on the door, which really wasn't necessary because it swung wide open, already unlocked.

The main room was the nearly-empty kitchen joined with a small living room, which housed only a tattered old sofa. "In here!" somebody called from one of the three adjoining rooms. Enjolras assumed the door in the middle was the correct one.

He guessed correctly. The small bedroom was already crowded. In the opposite corner was Jehan, not crying but on the verge of. Next to him was Bahorel, looking uncharacteristically pensive. In the opposite corner was Bossuet, wearing a frown that didn't suit him at all. Next to him was Feuilly, his arms crossed and his eyebrows pushed together. Combeferre was closest to the door, and was almost ran over when Enjolras entered the room.

In the center of the room lay a mattress, on the floor without box springs. Musichetta was sitting there, holding Éponine and stroking her hair.

The tattered girl was sick. But it wasn't the flu. Her skin looked blue, and she was disoriented, squeezing her eyes shut and opening them repeatedly. He could hear her shallow, raspy breaths, even from his distance.

"What the hell happened?" Enjolras demanded.

"She relapsed," Musichetta said. "I think she overdosed."

Enjolras was apparently the only one that didn't know she was an addict.

"Why aren't we taking her to the hospital?"

"That would destroy any chance of her getting custody of her sister," Combeferre answered.

"What?" he turned to look at his friend.

"She didn't tell you? We told her to talk to you about it."

Enjolras clenched his jaw.

"Nevermind," Combeferre said. Éponine's whole body convulsed."It's the least of our problems right now."

Joly and Courfeyrac burst in next. The medical intern had a needle and a clear vial in his hand. "Sorry… had… to… sneak… stole…" he held the vial up to finish his sentence for him, then gave it to Musichetta as he checked on Éponine.

Joly grabbed her wrist. "I can't even feel her pulse," he announced, which was a mistake since it sent Jehan into a burst of tears. Bahorel put his arm around the poet.

Whoever was lying on this mattress, it wasn't Éponine. Éponine was the girl whose coffee was sometimes disgusting and sometimes perfect, depending on her mood. She was the girl who offered her opinion when she wanted to, whether or not they asked for it. He came to the realization that he knew her a bit better than anyone would give him credit for, but it still wasn't enough.

Musichetta handed the vial and needle to Joly, and Combeferre stepped up to hold onto the girl's shaking and already-bruised arm as Joly injected the narcotic antagonist. Enjolras made his best effort to contain the white fury that was building up inside of him.

He was angry that his friends were here, watching this, and that it was clearly destroying them. He was angry that Grantaire wasn't here. He was angry at whoever gave Éponine the heroin. And he was angry that he was too caught up in the thrills of planning the revolution to remember that the Les Amis were individuals with their own lives.

When the others moved away from her, Enjolras approached Éponine. He, gently as he could, turned her face towards him. Her skin was freezing, not hot like he expected. "What are you doing?" Musichetta demanded, about ready to slap the revolutionary away from the girl.

Enjolras ignored her. "Éponine, I need to know where you got it from." His voice wasn't as severe as it could have been, but he still used a sternness that came along with desperation.

Her pinpoint pupils managed a glare at him.

Marius stumbled in, looking completely disheveled.

"Pontmercy!" Enjolras exclaimed, grabbing the startled boy's shoulders. "Where'd she get it?"

"I- I dunno , I mean… she could've gotten it from anyone."

"Well who did she used to get it from?"

"Montparnasse. But she doesn't really see him anymore—"

"Address?"

"Enjolras, don't," Combeferre protested.

"Marius, I need an address."

Marius nodded solemnly and dug through his pockets for a pen. He wrote the address on the back of a receipt and handed it to him.

"Enjolras, no!" Combeferre protested, much more loudly this time.

Enjolras ignored him. "Bahorel, I assume you're coming?"

Bahorel actually grinned. "I was praying you'd ask." He patted Jehan's shoulder as he left his side. Bossuet and Feuilly shifted to move around him.

"Be careful," Courfeyrac told them. "From what little Ép has told me, he's not really somebody you mess with."

Enjolras nodded, and he and Bahorel left immediately.

Down the stairs they passed Grantaire, who, despite being sober, looked absolutely awful. He was carrying Gavroche on his back, although the boy didn't look like himself. The normally cheerful, free-spirited boy was completely distraught, and rightfully so given the state of his sister. Enjolras and Bahorel weren't thrilled with the idea of Gavroche seeing Éponine, but there wasn't much they could do about it. Besides, they didn't have time to stop and argue.

* * *

"Is this it?" Bahorel asked.

"Must be." Enjolras turned off his car and the two of them walked up the steps to the door of the filthy building. It was the last in a series of houses of poverty-ridden houses, this one looking particularly rundown.

Enjolras knocked. And knocked again. And again. Then Bahorel moved his friend to the side and banged his fist on the door.

Finally, a voice came from the other side. "What do you want?"

"We're looking for Montparnasse. Apparently he can hook us up," Bahorel said.

"Yeah? Who told you that?"

Enjolras and Bahorel exchanged a look, and Enjolras nodded. "Éponine," Bahorel answered.

There was a pause, and then the click of the door lock, which cued a quickened heartbeat from the two boys. The door had only opened a crack before they shoved their way in. Bahorel had the man's shirt in his fist before he could realize what was happening.

Enjolras recognized the man. It took him a second, but he identified him as the one who spoke to Éponine the night she cut her hand. He couldn't remember his name, but he knew this wasn't Montparnasse.

Enjolras grabbed the man's face in his hand and turned it towards him. "You gave it to her, didn't you? When you went to Musain?"

"It was Montparnasse's. I'm just the messenger," he choked out.

"Where is he?"

"Out. I d-dunno where, I swear."

"Fine. You're going to deliver a message for me. Tell Montparnasse that Éponine is part of the Les Amis now. When he so blatantly harasses one of us, it affects the rest of us. I'm trying to start a revolution, and he's getting in the way. Next time, it'll be the entire Les Amis on your doorstep, not just us. Do I need to repeat myself?"

"Don't make him repeat himself," Bahorel added, if only to get the chance to say _something _at all.

"I got it," Claquesous tried to nod, but found it difficult because of Enjolras's grip on his face.

"Good. Bahorel, let him go." Reluctantly, Bahorel did so.

Enjolras prided himself on self-control. He preached to the other Les Amis that any various desires should be kept in-check, that letting their feelings guide their lives was anything if not childish. But now, all he could think about was Éponine's bluish body convulsing on the mattress, and he felt one impulse he wasn't going to deny. He punched Claquesous square in the jaw. His knuckles instantly began to throb, but the cracking sound made when Enjolras's fist connected with the other man's face was worth it.

Enjolras adjusted his jacket and guided his friend out the door. When they were outside, Bahorel gave him a look.

"What?"

"I don't see why you got to do the talking _and _the punching," Bahorel complained, much like a child at a grocery store.

"You could have punched him," Enjolras said.

"I figured you'd get angry at me."

"Since when do you care if anyone is angry with you?" Enjolras opened his car door. "If anything, you _deliberately _make us angry with you."

Bahorel huffed and got into the car. "Whatever. Let's just get back."

* * *

Back in the apartment, the boys were all in the living room. Enjolras had been gone at least a couple of hours, a bit longer than they thought. Apparently, Éponine had woken up and kicked everyone out of her room (literally, in Courfeyrac's case). She did, however, allow—actually, request—Marius to stay.

Jehan was on the couch, Gavroche asleep on his lap, Courfeyrac and Feuilly on either side of them. Grantaire sat at their feet. Combeferre stood in the kitchen, a stoic expression on his face. In the corner, Musichetta, Bossuet, and Joly were whispering.

When he noticed their return, Joly approached Bahorel and Enjolras. "How is she?" Enjolras and Bahorel asked at the same time.

"She's going to be fine," Joly said. "But the stuff I gave her will give her some pretty nasty symptoms. Like she's going through withdrawal."

"After one use?"

"Part of it will be psychosomatic," Joly said. Enjolras could have laughed; how ironic the statement was, coming from a hypochondriac.

"So…" Bahorel said, observing the room, "looks like we'll be camping out here for a while." He went over and made himself comfortable next to Feuilly.

Marius came suddenly from Éponine's room, swinging the door so haphazardly that it banged against the wall. He looked incredibly pale. Everyone who was on the couch stood, including the no-longer-sleeping Gavroche.

They all stood there, staring at him for a moment, waiting for him to say something. "She's conscious," he finally murmured, then brushed past them. "I just… have to go… do something really quick."

Everyone watched him leave, confused at why he would just run off like that if she was fine. "He's just overwhelmed," Combeferre said finally.

The rest of them sat around for what seemed like ages. Gavroche had fallen right back to sleep. Nobody was comfortable with how still the boy was lying; much like his sister, it didn't seem like that was really Gavroche curled up on the couch.

Finally, Courfeyrac said, "Somebody should go check on her."

"I actually value my life, but thanks," Grantaire said.

"Wouldn't it make sense for Joly to do it since he's the doctor?" Feuilly said.

"He's not a doctor, he's an intern," Musichetta said, almost a hiss. "And he's sleeping." Indeed, the _intern _was asleep, assuming a position not unlike Gavroche's on top of Musichetta's lap.

"This is the most useless argument I've ever watched," Bossuet said.

"Why don't you do it then?" Grantaire challenged.

Bossuet shut up at that.

Combeferre sighed loudly.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. "You are a bunch of children. Every rally we go to, we could be beaten or arrested. And now you're worried about an underweight girl who, until a few hours ago, wasn't even conscious?"

"Don't harangue us because you don't understand women," Grantaire said.

Enjolras would've been irritated by Grantaire's little jab had he not been so impressed that he actually knew what _harangue_ meant. He made a move to the door.

"Enjolras, she's gonna kick your ass—" Grantaire began to warn.

"She really doesn't want—" started Courfeyrac.

Enjolras knocked on the door.

* * *

**A/N: **Hey Im back! Yay! If you got confused during this (sorry) this is basically me tying up all the loose ends that are mostly from Chapter 3.

Shout out to my dad for trying to educate me in heroin addiction (not that he reads this, but still). I really do try to be as accurate as possible.

**Thanks so much** for all the help with the progress of their relationship. Any fic involving Enjolras's relationships is going to be partly OOC, and I wanted to make sure that, although I have to change his character minorly, I was doing an okay job at it. I always value your opinions and I really appreciate you taking the time to help me. I love knowing what you guys are thinking so if you have a question or comment or tip please don't hesitate.

_Oh, by the way._.. I already wrote the next chapter (completely) so I'm sending it to tumblr user **winnif** (she's super cool by the way) to be edited and **_I'm posting it tomorrow_**. My other go-to editor is tumblr user **upwardlooking**. I just dont give them enough credit for putting up with me.

Happy late Easter, if you celebrate it:)


	10. Inhibitions

**A/N:** So I updated two days in a row... Just clarifying in case you didn't get the chance to read the last chapter and went straight to this one. Thanks for all the support! I loved reading your reviews! Enjoy!

* * *

I was so cynical, just inconvincible, nobody seemed worth trusting

But sure enough just when I'd near given up you appeared there among the destruction

Now it's official I've lost my initial suspicions and skepticism  
You got me caving in; feeding the craving, I see now what I've been missing

-Kate Voegele, _Might Have Been_

* * *

Éponine was lying horizontally across the mattress, facing the wall opposite the door. She had been told to lay on her side, and she did so, but her face was half-covered by the pillow. It wasn't the most comfortable position, but it was how Marius had left her after cradling her in his lap. That was something Éponine had always wanted, and when it happened, she wasn't sure what to make of it. Because it wasn't real, it wasn't because Marius loved her. It was because he felt sorry for her.

She had told him that she had once thought she might have been in love with him, and his response was shock. Like it hadn't been obvious, the way that she trailed after him the past several months. And then he said he had to go, which was probably for the best.

Maybe a minute after Marius had left, there was a knock on her door. She didn't have the energy to protest, as much as she wanted to. So she remained silent, hoping that once the intruder saw her state they would leave her alone.

"Éponine? Can I come in?" she heard the voice through the door. It was Enjolras.

Still she didn't respond. She heard the door behind her creak open. It was dark enough that the light from outside her room cast an unpleasant beam of light that hit her face. "Are you awake?" he whispered.

"Hmmm."

"Can I come in?"

"Hmmm."

"Is that a yes?"

If Éponine could move from that spot, she would've hit him in the eye. "Come in or get out, just close the effing door."

She heard him enter her room and close the door behind her, and then she saw his shoes at eye level, just a few feet away from her. "Sit down," she said, not because she was being polite but because her mattress was on the floor and she couldn't find the strength to tilt her head and look at his face. She felt no desire to look at his shoes.

"I was actually just coming in here to... nevermind."

He sat down across from her, and she regretted her offer immediately. Because now she could see him, she could see his eyes looking at her. She could count on her hands the number of times he had actually looked at her, and those were usually just glances. But now his eyes weren't moving from hers.

"You look better… than before."

"Come to take pity?" Éponine couldn't help but grumble.

"I would never." Éponine raised her eyebrows, because maybe Enjolras wasn't as clueless about her as she had thought. "I have questions that I need you to answer. First… I want to know… is it okay for me to ask _why_?"

"Why I used? You think you deserve an explanation?" she defended.

"No, of course not. But I still would like one. Because there's ten people in your living room wondering the same thing. I might not deserve one, but they do."

_What the hell was that supposed to mean? _"You're angry, aren't you?"

"Why do you say that?"

"Because with me, you're always angry. When you're not ignoring me."

He looked offended. "I'm not angry at you. I'm furious at the situation, but I'm not angry at you."

Éponine didn't really comprehend the difference. Enjolras scratched his eyebrow, unsure of what to say, and Éponine saw his swollen knuckles. "What happened?"

"You're trying to change the subject."

"No, you just don't want to answer the question."

He sighed. If he wasn't annoyed with her before, he was now. "How are you so argumentative when you're barely awake?"

"Still not answering my question." She was nauseas, irritated, covered in sweat. Worst of all, she felt weak. It didn't help that there were a handful of men she only sort of knew sitting in her living room right now. Enjolras was just lucky she couldn't move her arms.

"Fine. If it's so goddamn important to you, I ran into that guy at the café, the night I walked you home."

"Claquesous? Christ, Enjolras!" She tried to push herself up, but couldn't find the strength. He moved to help her, but she stopped him. She finally managed to at least move so her head and shoulders were against the wall, where she was almost (but not quite) in a sitting position. "He was alone, I assume, or else you'd be in worse shape than me. Did you punch him in the jaw?"

He gave her a _How did you know_? look.

"Your hand. It's really swollen. You wanna break your hand, you go for the jaw. You want to do some actual damage, you go to for the throat."

He didn't reply, but he gave her another look. "Are you ever going to answer my question?" he said after some time.

Éponine took a deep breath. "Because I could. Because I can't help my sister. Because I thought I was in love with a man who would never be mine."

"You _thought_?" Enjolras repeated, although she could tell he didn't mean to do so aloud by the expression that followed.

Éponine nodded half-heartedly. "I thought," she confirms. "But maybe I am—_was—_in love with the idea of him. Something you can relate to, loving ideas."

He furrowed his eyebrows, but otherwise ignored the comment. This wasn't the first time she had tried to disguise an insult as a compliment. He made a mental note to address it later, though, when she might be able to focus on such a discussion. For now, he decided to stick to the topic. "But why Marius?"

"You don't like him, do you?" Éponine said, a bit defensive.

"The boy means well, he's just seems so oblivious."

"He was the first person who saw me as a person, and not as a criminal—or worse, a charity case."

"Éponine, you should know that the guys… and I…" he cleared his throat and started over. "You should know that we consider you a member of Les Amis by now. I know I told you that a few days ago, but I wanted to make sure I'm clear."

Éponine nodded. "You're clear." She decided to focus at a stain on the wall so she didn't have to face him. After a moment, Éponine added, "You don't think I gave up, did you? Because I didn't want to give up. I wanted it to stop hurting. Does that make me weak?" _What do you expect, Éponine? For this man to comfort you? Why him? _She would later blame this on her ill health, on the convenience of his physical proximity. For the time being, she stared at her dirty feet.

"No one could ever accuse you of being weak, Éponine," he told her. She gave him a sideways glance.

He waited a minute before asking his final question. "Combeferre said you were going to ask me for help, something about your sister?"

"I talked to Combeferre and Joly about it, I never said I was going to ask you for help."

"Why are you so defensive?"

"Why are you so persistent?"

"Éponine—"

"I needed help getting custody of my sister. They said I should ask you, but I didn't want to. I figured you'd just say something like, 'We have a higher cause to serve. We'll fix your personal problems as soon as we overthrow the French government, okay?'" She made her voice go lower as she imitated him, which might have been amusing had she not—perhaps rightfully so—been accusing him of insensitivity.

Enjolras couldn't think of a reasonable way to deny the claim. Instead, he said, "I'm sorry. If there's something I can do now—"

"There's not," she interrupted. "Azelma's gone. She's with my parents. And Montparnasse."

"But isn't he—"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry—"

"Don't."

Enjolras stood up. "I should let you rest."

"Enjolras, I have something to tell you," Éponine said, so quickly it sounded like one word.

"What?"

"I… I stole your wallet." Apparently it was a night of confessions for Éponine. Just as well, since she could blame it on her health.

He patted his pockets subconsciously, as if checking for the missing item. "What are you talking about?"

"The day we met. At the school. I tripped, and I grabbed it. I didn't mean too; it was an impulse."

"Earlier, when I punched Claquesous? That was an impulse. You steal wallets and I punch people. What does that say about us?"

Éponine saw a rare grin. It looked rather boyish for such a serious man. "You have a good smile," she said boldly. "You should do it more often."

His face fell to its usual pensive expression. "And you should sleep," he said. As he was turning to leave, she could have sworn she saw his lips curl upward again.


	11. A Day Feels Too Long

You been kneelin' in the dark for far too long  
You've been waitin' for that spark, but it hasn't come  
Well I'm callin' to you, please, get off the floor  
A good heart will find you again

-Glen Hansard, _Bird of Sorrow_

* * *

Éponine awoke the next day to discover that most of the boys had moved back into her bedroom. Jehan was curled at her feet, and Bahorel lay across the doorway, which could be painful if anyone suddenly ran in. Four of them had created a domino of sleeping heads on stomachs; Bossuet was on Feuilly, Musichetta was on Bossuet, and Joly was on Musichetta. She would've been furious at their return had it not been for the sleep Gavroche that had somehow wrapped himself in her arms. Éponine could hear him snoring lightly and she squeezed him. She hadn't ever seen him lie so still before; even when he slept, he was usually squirming around, dreaming about whatever prank he would pull next.

She slid her arm out from underneath her brother. He grumbled a little but didn't wake. She tiptoed over Jehan and the domino-line of her friends, then shoved Bahorel out of the way with her foot. Him, she wasn't worried about waking. Her legs beneath her were weak and shaking, but she didn't want to stay in the bedroom. Her head, however, was pounding, and she had to steady herself against the wall.

She had made it two steps outside her door before she knew she had to lie back down. Unfortunately, her couch was being occupied by four others: Enjolras, Grantaire, Courfeyrac, and Combeferre. Even in her delirious state, she did note that Marius wasn't there, but she didn't expect him to be.

_I could just lie down on the floor... _The floor was hard and cold, which was presumably why the boys were piled onto the couch. _No. If they're going to be invading my personal space, then I'm going to do the same. _

If she had the energy, she would have yelled at them, then dragged them out of her apartment by their shirt collars. But she was too tired, and if she didn't lie down, she would fall asleep standing up.

If one could flop onto a couch in an aggressive manner, that's what Éponine did. Then she dug her elbows into Grantaire and her hipbone into Courfeyrac. She kicked Combeferre in the knee, although not hard, since she found him to be the least obnoxious of the four. Still, she couldn't let the invasion go unpunished. Lastly, she stretched out her arm to punch Enjolras in the ribs, passing it off as a yawn.

"Christ—"

"What the—"

"Ugh—"

"Get the hell out of my house or shut up," Éponine mumbled.

"Éponine! You're awake!" Courfeyrac said, at a volume too high for the morning.

The girl adjusted her knee so it jabbed his spleen, but the student was too thrilled by the girl's consciousness to care.

"How are you feeling?" Combeferre asked. Éponine's eyes were shut, so she couldn't see him, but she could tell he wasn't exactly awake either.

"How am I feeling?" she repeated. "I'm feeling like there are a bunch of assholes sitting on my couch and preventing me from sleeping."

"You sound like yourself," Grantaire said.

"That's because I _am _myself. Everyone just freaked out. I'm fine." That was a lie. She was nauseas and her skin felt clammy. The space between her temples felt prickly, like blood flow to a limb was being constricted. Éponine felt worse than any hangover Grantaire ever had, she was sure. But she was too tired to care.

"I'd hardly say we overreacted—" Combeferre started.

"Combeferre, shut up," Éponine told him. He obliged.

Enjolras, who had remained silent this whole time, tried to slide his arm out from under Eponine's neck. She opened one eye to look up at him. The revolutionary had an extremely pained look.

Suddenly she remembered last night and everything she told him. She turned her head to face away from him, which was a bit better because she couldn't see him. It also provided her another opportunity to elbow Courfeyrac in the ribs.

"Could you guys please leave?" Éponine asked, her voice much softer this time.

"No," Courfeyrac said decidedly, although he was barely awake. "Did you honestly think asking in a nicer tone would make us leave?"

Éponine groaned loudly, but quickly fell back asleep.

Combeferre got up suddenly, shifting Eponine's feet as he declared he would make the coffee. Then Courfeyrac left, sliding over the back of the couch ungracefully as way of getting out from under the sleeping girl. Grantaire moved to the floor, and Enjolras carefully moved Éponine's sleeping head so he could move, too.

* * *

A small fist digging its way into his ribcage was what woke Enjolras. It wasn't a pleasant feeling to be woken up to, but his sleep wasn't that great, so he wasn't too put out. He opened his eyes slowly to see Éponine. Her head wasn't really on his lap, it was more in the space between Enjolras's and Courfeyrac's legs. The top of her head was pushing into his thigh, and her sweat-soaked hair was everywhere. Her usually wild eyes were squeezed shut.

"Éponine! You're awake!" Courfeyrac shouted, right into Enjolras's ear.

While the other four exchanged snide comments—granted, the snide comments came mostly from Éponine—Enjolras was forced to remember what she looked like last night, crumpled and barely able to move. He could still hear her words in his head, asking if he thought her weak, spoken in a voice that didn't belong to her.

His arm started to fall asleep, and he tried to move it from underneath her neck, but to no avail. A brown eye popped open, and she must have seen him, because she flipped her head around to face the opposite wall instead. Although he recovered use of his arm, he was just as uncomfortable now. Her hot breath was on his knee.

His biggest complaint wasn't, however, his physical discomfort. It was what to do about Éponine being a member of Les Amis. He didn't regret the choice; it was a long, thought-out decision that he made only with the support of every other member, all of whom gave their support enthusiastically. It was that Éponine was, well… a woman. He was having a hard enough time keeping the discussion topics off of women when there wasn't one around; was that going to change now that she would be joining them?

Maybe it would actually be better this way. With her around, they might be _less _distractions. She didn't seem like the women the boys usually talked about. He would just have to wait and see how it all played out.

* * *

About an hour later, Éponine found herself awakened by horrible stabs of pain in her gut. She made her way to the bathroom just in time to deplete herself of whatever was in her stomach, which wasn't much.

"Ah, the glamorous art of toilet-bowl-hugging," Grantaire said, pushing open the door to the bathroom.

"I don't need you to hold my hair back," Éponine said from her spot on the floor.

Grantaire sat beside her. "I didn't offer," he replied. "I just came to see if you were as talented as I am."

"At what? Puking?" with that, Éponine leaned forward into the toilet and coughed, but nothing came out. He didn't try to hold her hair, but he did put a hand on her shoulder.

"Yes, and you seem to be failing miserably."

Éponine leaned back against the wall. "Did Marius come back last night?"

Grantaire breathed in, trying to decide what to say. "No," he murmured finally, but only because he knew it would be better than lying to her.

"Okay."

"That's it? That's all you're gonna say? 'Okay'? Éponine, I never thought I'd see the day where all you had to say was 'okay'."

"Well what did you expect me to say?"

"Something like, 'Oh, poor Marius, he's probably so overwhelmed.' Or, 'That damn Cosette is trying to steal him away from me.'" Grantaire's vocal impression of Éponine was actually quite accurate, but she wasn't about to let him know that.

"If Marius is happy with Cosette, then… whatever."

Grantaire shifted to look at her straight on. "Who are you?"

"What?"

"It's like your body has been taken over by a parasite from outer space and its controlling your thoughts."

"What the hell are you talking about?!"

"You don't sound like yourself, that's what I'm saying. You usually look for ways to praise Marius, and now all you have to say on the subject is 'okay'."

"Okay, first, I do not. Second, you're a jerk. Third," she paused and gave a heavy sigh, "I told him that I thought I was in love with him. But then I realized that all I really wanted was him, there, like his physical presence, you know? And I think I just freaked him out."

She couldn't tell him that she was tired of pretending like it meant more than it really did, every time Marius looked or smiled at her. Tired of _knowing _it was only in her mind.

"That's like, really wise. You're like a little Buddha. Except skinny. And a girl. And you have hair."

Éponine glared at him, but didn't respond to his comment. Then she turned to face forward. "I want to get over him," she muttered.

"About damn time." Grantaire made a face that said _I-need-a-drink. _

"Does _nobody _like him?"

"No, we're friends. I love the kid, don't get me wrong. He can just be so…."

"Oblivious?" Éponine offered, then winced as she realized it was Enjolras who had used that term first.

"That's the perfect word. Look, you admitted he has faults! Aww, 'Ponine, makin' progress already."

"I hate you."

Grantaire shrugged. "Love and hate are similar emotions."

Éponine shoved him, but her arms were too weak to do much damage.

"I told Enjolras yesterday … about Marius," she muttered softly, after some time.

Grantaire looked equal parts mortified and amused. "You talked to Enjolras about _feelings?_"

"I dunno, I was emotional and tired and he was just sitting right there…."

Grantaire busted out with a laugh so loud it made Éponine jump.

"He was… so cranky… last night…"Grantaire tried to wheeze out. "We all… thought you had… insulted him…" He inhaled deeply, trying to finish his thoughts between laughs. "That's just… so much better."

It took him a bit, but he finally calmed down. "God, 'Ponine, I've been screwing with him for years now, and you barely know him and manage to get _that _reaction? I'm impressed, maybe _I _should be taking lessons from _you._ Anyway, so you're saying you love Marius the idea and not Marius the person?"

"Yes. No. I don't know. Maybe. Ugh."

"Thanks, that cleared it up for me."

She shoved him. "It doesn't matter. Because starting today, I'm…" she paused, holding her breath, "I'm going to not love him."

"I don't think you get to decide that for yourself."

"Yes I do. I always get to decide." _Well, for the most part._ Éponine couldn't deny that some things were out of her control. But if she had the opportunity to decide for herself, she would. She wasn't about to let anybody else decide for her, anyway."Except when it comes to you assholes invading my house."

"We didn't invade your house—"

There was a knock at the bathroom door. "What were you saying?" she muttered.

The door creaked open, nearly hitting Grantaire in the knee because of how small the bathroom was. It was Enjolras. _Because apparently he hasn't had enough of me, and now he has to see me puke. _

"Combeferre, Joly, and I were talking and…" examining her disheveled appearance, he realized maybe this wasn't how to start off the conversation. "Do you need anything?"

Éponine pushed herself from the ground and gave him a cold look. She brushed past him and entered the kitchen, where Combeferre and Joly already were. She had stood too quickly and made herself dizzy, but masked this by leaning against the back cupboard as she folded her arms and glared at the other two men.

"You're looking better," Combeferre remarked.

"I didn't have the flu," Éponine snapped.

"May I… nevermind," said Joly, who stopped offering help as soon as he saw Éponine's expression.

Jehan came in, squeezed Éponine tight, then gave her a kiss on the cheek. The poet was followed by Gavroche.

"'Ponine!" the young boy squealed. "You missed it! Yesterday morning, I saw Brujon fall and his big, fat face! I think he broke his nose. I wanted to tell you, but you were sleeping all day."

"Oh?" Éponine swallowed hard. "And how'd he fall?"

Gavroche gave a mischievous smile as a reply.

"No one saw you, did they?"

"'Course not! You taught me that."

"Gavroche!" Combeferre said. "I have a favor to ask. Don't worry, there's something in it for you, too," he said, sensing the boy's hesitance. "I need you to run down to that tech store down the street, the one with the green banner. Get me a thumb drive, you know, the tiny portable ones that you can store documents on. I need one for class today and I forgot to bring mine, and it would take too long to run back." He pulled out his wallet and offered the boy several bills. "There's a candy store right next door. Get yourself whatever you want."

Gavroche grabbed the bills, bowed dramatically, and declared he would be back shortly. As soon as the door closed behind him, Combeferre turned to Éponine.

"We think it would be best if someone—say, Musichetta—stayed with you for a while. Just until you're feeling better."

"You mean until you're sure I won't relapse again? Don't sugarcoat it."

Jehan, sensing he had entered a warzone, gave Eponine a peck on the cheek and declared he had to go to class, but would be back that evening, and to, of course, call him if she needed anything. He was replaced by Courfeyrac and Feuilly, but Feuilly wasn't staying either.

"I have to go to work," he explained. "I tried to call in sick but I guess they really need me. Do you want me to stop by during lunch?" he asked Éponine.

She glared in response.

"I'll take that as a maybe," he said, and left.

"Courfeyrac, tell them I don't need a babysitter. I've lived on my own this whole time, I can take care of myself now."

"Well, I mean, yeah, like, I mean…" he babbled.

"We're trying to help you. Why are you fighting this?" Enjolras said.

Musichetta and Bossuet entered, followed by Grantaire and Bahorel. They had been laughing at something, but stopped as soon as they realized what was unfolding in the kitchen.

"'_Why am I fighting this?_'" Éponine repeated. "I don't know, maybe because there are nine people who won't get out of my apartment. Christ, Enjolras, for a college student, you aren't very smart." Some of them flinched; others snickered at the insult.

"Éponine, we're trying to—" he began.

"No, don't even start. You don't get to pretend like you care. Not when the amount of times you can look me in the eye is in single digits."

"It's not his fault he doesn't know how to talk to a girl," Grantaire said.

"You know what I think?" Musichetta put in. "I think there's too much testosterone in here. You four," she said, pointing to Bossuet, Grantaire, Bahorel, and Joly, "don't you have class?"

"Mine doesn't start till—" Bahorel started.

Musichetta shot him a look, and for once in his life, Bahorel didn't argue. The four of them said their goodbyes and left.

"That's better," she said, wiping her hands on her skirt as if she had just done a chore. "Now, we're going to talk this out like adults. Éponine, you go first, it's your home."

"My problem is that two nights ago, I felt more alone than ever. Now I'm surrounded by people, and all I want is to be alone." She was sure to use her least-civilized tone, just to be spiteful.

"So what you're saying is," Musichetta moderated, "you feel like everyone is only here because they see you as a victim."

Éponine wasn't sure how Musichetta was able to reverberate her thoughts in a more understandable way, but she was right, and Éponine nodded. She added, "You care more about your stupid revolution than you do the people around you. Being here is just a way to help you sleep at night." It probably wasn't necessary to add. She didn't even mean it, for the most part anyway. But she was feeling particularly aggressive.

Enjolras would later pass her agitation off as a symptom of her comedown. For now, though, he wasn't used to being talked to like this. He was used to the guys arguing with him, he was used to name-calling and small insults. But he had never been accused as not caring for his friends. He may have put an emphasis on the revolution, asking them to set aside discussions of their personal lives for after the meetings, but that didn't mean he didn't see each one of them as a brother.

"_Liberté, égalité, fraternité_," Enjolras replied, placing special emphasis on the last term.

"Are you about to give me a speech?" she said, raising an eyebrow.

He ignores her comment and continues. "You're in Les Amis now, I thought I made that clear last night. We take care of each other. Just because I don't want to listen to Courfeyrac talk about whoever he slept with the night before, or hear Grantaire's drunken ramblings, or the latest news from Poland from Feuilly, doesn't mean I don't care. It just means that I want to focus on the problems that supersede our own.

"We didn't let you in because we pity you," he continued. "Or because you happen work where we meet. We let you in because you look at things differently, because your experiences set you apart and provide a new insight."

There was a long moment where nobody said anything. The tension was suffocating. Then, finally, Éponine whispered, "Fine."

"What?" Combeferre asked.

"I said fine, I'll let Musichetta stay for a couple of nights, if that's what everyone wants."

"Thank you," the all said, but for different reasons.

"I'm going to take a shower," she said, by way of response.

* * *

Feuilly did come back for lunch, bringing with him Polish pastries called _Pączki._ Where he got them, Éponine had no idea. While she was eating—which she did even though she knew she would probably puke it up later, because where she came from she learned to never reject food—Feuilly told her the story of how he grew up. An orphan, he taught himself to read and write, and got a decent job at an art museum.

Maybe being an orphan would've been better than being raised by her parents.

Jehan came back, too, after classes. So did Bahorel, who brought his laptop to watch some low-budget American horror movie. Jehan didn't verbally protest, be he was obviously unhappy with the choice. The three of them, along with Musichetta, huddled around the laptop. Halfway through, Musichetta decided that her English wasn't good enough for the movie. Everyone knew she meant that she couldn't stand the gore any longer. She declared she was going to check in on the café; some girl had volunteered to look after it and she needed to make sure that she didn't burn the place to the ground.

Grantaire returned just as the movie was over. He threw a fit about not getting to watch it with them. Marius came back eventually, too, though he didn't stay for long. He claimed he was already late to dinner with his grandpa.

"I thought your grandpa didn't want anything to do with you?" Eponine had asked.

"That's what this dinner is trying to fix," he replied shortly.

"I thought _you _didn't want anything to do with your grandpa," she said.

He shrugged in place of an answer. Éponine could feel a great barrier between them, and maybe it was better this way, because at least now she could start to separate herself from him. But it didn't _feel _better.

Éponine didn't sleep that night. Maybe it was just a side effect of the comedown. Maybe it was everything that happened with Marius, or the fight with Enjolras. But she didn't dare leave her room, not with Musichetta in the next room or the several students sleeping in her living room even though she said only Musichetta could stay. Still, she squeezed her eyes shut, praying sleep would come. She was ready for it to be a new day.

* * *

**A/Ns:**

Sorry this update took so long. This chapter is about twice as long as the others, and I've been having the most horrid time writing it. If you follow me on tumblr, you've seen me whine all week. (Speaking of, if I'm not following you back, _please _let me know! Don't be shy!)

On the withdrawal: technically vomiting doesn't start till later in the withdrawal (well that's what my research told me, at least). I lied a little for the sake of this chapter. But agitation is definitely a symptom, as well as sweating.

Thanks for all your support!


	12. Watch You Fall

**A/N:** I everyone! Sorry I've been gone so long. I've been really busy... crying about George Blagden (hence the song lyrics this chapter- he does a really good cover!). Seriously though, I just lost my momentum and it was hard to get back on track.

I'm going to switch the type from Plays/Musicals to Books. It just makes way more sense, although my character descriptions will still be like the movie, since that's the version I'm most familiar with.

Also, this chapter is a filler-there's really no point to it except to develop their relationship. But I think it was about time they got their own chapter, and it was nice to not write something as depressing or angsty as the last few chapters. I hope you like it!

* * *

This is the start of something beautiful  
This is the start of something new  
You are the one who'd make me lose it all  
You are the start of something new

-Ed Sheeran, _This_

* * *

For the second morning in a row, Enjolras woke up to Éponine's fist grinding into his ribs. She was splayed out the length of the couch, this time not inconvenienced by any other of the Amis. Her face was buried in the cushions and Enjolras could see the spots in her black shirt that were darker where it had been soaked through with sweat.

"Is this gonna become a habit, punching me in the mornings?" he asked bitterly, closing his eyes once again. Sleeping sitting up two days in a row wasn't helping his mood any.

"Depends, how long are you going to be staying unwelcomed in my house?" she answered, her voice muffled and almost incoherent from the couch cushions.

"You said we could stay."

"No, I said _Musichetta _could stay."

_Why did I even bother? _Enjolras thought. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I fell asleep reading. I figured Combeferre would wake me up." It was mostly the truth, except Combeferre _had _tried to wake him up, or so Enjolras vaguely remembered.

"I don't blame you," Éponine said, grabbing the book which had fallen to his feet. "This thing is huge. It's ridiculous. No wonder you fell asleep. It's like some form of punishment."

Enjolras shrugged. "It's actually really interesting."

Éponine flipped to the back of the book. "Eight hundred and forty-seven pages?! Shit!" She then flipped to a random page and began reading.

"Are you really going to read my textbook?" Enjolras asked after a minute.

Éponine looked up at him. "What? I figured you would be thrilled that I would want to learn about..." she looked at the cover of the book, "_Trial Tactics and Methods. _Actually, this might help me win an argument with Bahorel."

Enjolras raised an eyebrow.

"I'm just _so bored," _Éponine practically whimpered. Her leg was tapping violently and she began to chew on her lip.

"Did you sleep okay?" he asked.

"I didn't."

"At all?"

Éponine shook her head, and strands of hair stuck to the sweat on her forehead. "That's pretty usual."

Enjolras didn't have a reply.

"So, what's the plan for today?" she asked.

"I have class."

"But it's Friday."

"Well, I have Friday classes. I could call Courfeyrac?"

"Don't bother. I think he, Grantaire, and Gavroche were all going to do some brotherly bonding thing, whatever the hell that means."

"That means playing video games."

Actually, it probably meant they would play video games for about two hours, one of them would throw a fit (probably Grantaire), then they would pretend to fight each other, which would only end in Gavroche biting them. Then they would run around doing God-knows-what in the streets, probably shoving cats into mailboxes or something. Then they would sit around and whistle at the girls who walked by.

"Doesn't Gavroche have school?" Enjolras continued.

"Yeah, um… he got suspended."

Enjolras shouldn't have been surprised, but he was.

"Remember when we first met, and it was 'cause Gavroche was in trouble? Yeah, he locked the teacher out of the classroom and barricaded the door this time."

Enjolras laughed, which actually made Éponine jump. He didn't laugh often, but he laughed loud.

"I can just come with you," Éponine suggested.

"It's a second-year political science class. I bet Jehan-"

"Good, I'll actually learn something," she cut him off. "Maybe. Taking me out in public, that's your punishment for sleeping on my couch without my permission."

Enjolras had the foreign urge to say he didn't think of that as a punishment, but he shoved it down. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?" she asked, already a bit defensive.

"I just don't want you to get sick in the middle of class."

"I'm not going to get sick. Anyway, I figured you'd be all excited to have someone else interested in politics."

This last part was true. "I just have this memory of Grantaire puking all over this other girl's desk last year."

"Well I'm not Grantaire, and I'm not going to puke. What time does it start?"

Enjolras looked at his watch and groaned again. "Not for another three hours."

"What's the matter?" she teased. "I figured you'd be the five-a.m.-morning-jog type."

Once, this was true. Now, his days consisted solely of classes, studying, and planning. He used to only get three or four hours of sleep a night. This continued for maybe a month, but that's all it took for him to burn out. One morning he woke up on the kitchen floor, his breakfast that he didn't even remember preparing spilled all over him. "A man can't save the world if he's falling asleep in his cereal," Combeferre had said. That's when everything unnecessary got cut from his life.

"Did you clean?" Enjolras looked around, changing the subject. The plain walls looked a little whiter, like she had scrubbed them.

"Yeah, I, uh… had a lot of energy this morning."

"I didn't wake up?"

Éponine pushed herself off from the couch. "You snore," she teased. "I'll go shower really quick, then we can go."

Enjolras tried to go back to sleep. But, after twenty minutes of staring at the back of his eyelids, he gave up. He stood and walked around Éponine's apartment, but there wasn't much to see. Apart from a couch and a couple pieces of mail sitting on the counter, there was no sign that anybody lived there. No family pictures on the fridge, no books lying around, she didn't even have any dishes in the sink. The girl really didn't have anything to her name.

Éponine finally emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed. "Is that a new shirt?" he blurted. _Why are you asking about her shirt?_

Éponine looked down at the jewel-blue tee she was wearing. "It's Musichetta's. I don't have anything clean." Which wasn't surprising, since she owned about three shirts. "Is she still sleeping?"

Enjolras nodded.

"Wow it's…" she walked into the kitchen to check the clock. "Oh. It's seven. That's why."

"We should leave a note for her or something, just so she knows where you are."

Éponine rolled her eyes but started opening random drawers, trying to remember where she kept the notepads. She opened the fourth drawer with an 'aha!' and scribbled down a note.

"Do you expect her to read that?" Enjolras asked, picking the note up from the counter where Éponine had smacked it down. He squinted at the little scribbles.

"Go fu—wait. Did you just make a _joke_ at me?"

"No," he said, despite the upward twitch of his lips that _almost _formed a smile.

"Should I be proud or worried?"

Enjolras shrugged. "Are you ready?"

"Yeah," she said, practically bouncing. He gave her a look. "I've spent the past two days stuck here. I used to be outside all day, sometimes for days at a time. I feel trapped."

Enjolras nodded. "Let's go."

* * *

Enjolras couldn't seem to get the door to unlock. He and Éponine had been standing there while he fumbled with the keys for at least a minute. But Éponine was starting to feel uncomfortable. Actually, she had felt uncomfortable ever since they had entered the building. It was the kind of place she used to steal from, not the kind where a friend would live. She mentally kicked herself for referring to Enjolras as a friend; he was an acquaintance at best.

"Move," she said, pushing him with a bony hip. "Keys," she demanded, but just grabbed them out of his hand. She shoved them into the keyhole, jostled twice, and the door clicked open.

"How did you—"

"I'm great at picking locks. It's even easier when I actually have keys."

"Should I be proud or worried?" he said, quoting her from earlier.

Éponine just shook her head and let herself into the apartment. "_C'est des conneries_!"* she said, looking around.

"What?"

"This place is fantastic!" And really, it was. It was really more of a _maisonette_ than an apartment, with a living room and kitchen downstairs and an upstairs which (Éponine assumed) had a couple of bedrooms. It was probably three times the size of Éponine's apartment—really, it was more like a small house. The walls were a dark red and lined with bookshelves. Yet apparently these bookshelves weren't enough, because he also had books piled on the coffee table, as well as stacked beside the shelves.

Enjolras shrugged in response.

"Are you _kidding me?!"_

"No, I just mean—I didn't pick it out for myself. It's not where I would've chosen to live, that's all."

"Yeah, and where would you live?" it came across as a bit of an accusation.

Again, Enjolras shrugged. "Somewhere smaller."

Éponine raised her eyebrows.

"It's hard to enjoy it when there are tens of thousands of people who sleep on the streets every night."

"Why do you feel so guilty about having money? It's not like it's your fault."

Enjolras shook his head. "No, maybe not. But it's hard to call ourselves free when our brothers are oppressed and starving."

"Is that why you're always at the café? Or at the school? Because you feel guilty being here?"

"I'm going to go get changed," he said, avoiding the question.

"If you hate it so much, why don't you leave?" she asked, stopping him halfway up the stairs.

He paused, tapping his hand on the railing, deciding if he wanted to answer. "It's not that simple," he said finally, turning back to her.

"It was for me."

_Well. _"If I let my parents pay for the apartment, choose where I live—it makes them think they still have some say in my life. It was either this or drop out of school and get a job."

"So it's a necessary evil, then? Is that how you see it?"

He turned again to climb the stairs.

"You shouldn't feel guilty about having nice things. I know I wouldn't."

* * *

The college campus was big, and Éponine wanted to explore it. Enjolras had to practically drag her to the lecture hall.

"Wait," she said, stopping right outside the room. "Bathroom?"

He pointed her down the hall, and she practically ran. She shoved a stall door open and knelt just in time to empty her stomach into the toilet, which smelled offensively of cleaner. She practically laughed. Hadn't she promised Enjolras this morning that she wasn't going to puke in the class? At least she got it out now.

She tried to rinse out her mouth as much as she could, but she knew Enjolras would smell it on her. Thankfully, another girl came into the bathroom, saw what she was doing, and offered her a mint.

"Must've been some party," the other girl said, fixing her makeup in the mirror.

"Yeah, something like that."

Éponine left the bathroom, and found Enjolras waiting just outside. "Ready?" he asked, unsuspicious.

She noded, and he guided them to the classroom. It was large, intended for a large lecture of around a hundred students. But there were only about fifteen of them occupying the room.

They grabbed two seats—towards the front, of course—and Éponine could feel several pairs of eyes watching her. Most of them were harmless, merely curious of the new girl, but a few were more hostile.

When the professor entered, Enjolras stood and brushed past her, and Éponine thought he might have touched her shoulder but the contact was so fleeting she couldn't be sure.

The professor was a stout man, with an overwhelming mustache and hunched shoulders. Enjolras said something to him, and he looked at Éponine and nodded. "Just had to make sure he was okay with it," Enjolras explained when he sat back down.

"Alright, class," the professor said from behind the podium. "Today we will be discussing the parliamentary system." Éponine saw Enjolras shift in his seat, and she could sense his eagerness.

"Most of this you should've learned in your first year classes. If you haven't, well, better catch up quick then," he continued rather severely. The professor had a thick accent, maybe American, and it was hard to tell what he was saying. Éponine wondered how he an American got stuck teaching French politics.

"Monsieur Enjolras, maybe you would care to remind us the basic ideas of the parliamentary system. Consider it payment for bringing an unexpected guest. Although I hardly think it would be less than a pleasure for you."

Enjolras grinned, a rare sight for Éponine, and gave what might have been the most flawless definition of the parliamentary system any of the students had ever heard.

Éponine guessed this class was going to be interesting, and she was not disappointed. Not in the subject matter—to be honest, Éponine didn't understand a lot of it, but she did pick up bits and pieces—but more so in the way the class interacted with each other. The professor would offer a few sentences of an explanation, ask a question, and somebody—usually Enjolras, although a petite girl in the back seemed determined to get her word in as well—would answer. Sometimes their answers would spark another student to submit their opinion, and more than once there was a disagreement over a topic. The professor would just sit back and let the students figure it out themselves.

But Éponine was particularly intrigued (or at least amused) at Enjolras's behavior. She had seen him become passionate during the rally, and he was usually fairly zealous during the meetings. But this was different. She wasn't quite sure what it was, but she had a feeling it had to do with the fact that the class was just that, a class. Nothing more. Compared to the subject matter usually discussed during the meetings, this class was practically stress-free for him.

Éponine made a mental not to ask him about it later. But for now, she remained silent and merely watched. She found it to be a welcome distraction from the ache in her skin.

* * *

"So, what did you think?" he asked her as they exited the building.

But his phone ringing interrupted her response.

"Hello? Yeah, she's with me. _Courfeyrac,"_ he mouthed the name at her. "Wait, what? I don't understand what you're saying. Yeah, here she is," he said, thrusting the phone into Éponine's hands.

"Yeah?"

"Éponine, you have to get down here. It's Gavroche."

Éponine's heartbeat was thumping in her temples. "Is he okay?!"

"No. He had like twelve of those chocolate egg things and now he's taken over _Call of Duty…" _his sentence was cut off by a loud crash in the background.

Éponine barked a laugh. "We'll head over."

"One more thing," Courfeyrac stopped her before she could hang up.

"Yeah?"

"For the love of God, will you get your own phone? You're impossible to track down."

* * *

**A/N:**

*****I've been told that c_'est des conneries _means "this is bullshit." I speak English and a bit of Spanish, so I wouldn't know. If we're gonna be honest, I just wanted the excuse to cuss in French.

Also, _Trial Tactics and Methods _is a real book, in case you were curious. It's only about 400 pages though.

Until next time!


	13. This is a Storm

**A/N:** I swear I wasn't going to take that long of a break. It was just turning into more work than fun, so I needed to step back for a bit. But I'm back now, and school is coming to a close, so I'm looking forward to getting to write some more!

We've also moved from Plays/Musicals to the Book section!

This chapter's a bit of a mess, it's really just a bunch of little things. But hopefully you'll still enjoy it. It's really just a setup for later.

* * *

And I see colors when I hear your voice  
Put on your wings that put gravity on trial  
I see colors, I don't hear the noise  
Because we're only flying for a while

-Andrew McMahon, Synesthesia

* * *

Éponine was trying her best not to get used to the abundance of attention and free food. Not because she wasn't enjoying it, but because she knew she wouldn't adjust well to things going back to the way they were before. So she had asked Musichetta if she could return to work as quickly as possible. Musichetta had a hard time saying 'no' before Éponine's relapse; now, it was practically impossible. The boys pretended to protest, but secretly they were pleased. The sooner everything could go back to normal, the better.

It was about five days later, and Éponine was standing behind the counter of the café. She was actually looking almost _better _than before. It probably had something to do with the fact that there was an overabundance of meals being cooked for her. It was as if suddenly everyone had become a chef overnight. With the exceptions of Bahorel and Bossuet, of course—Bahorel couldn't cook worth a damn and Bossuet avoided hot surfaces at all costs—who elected to bring her food from the market instead.

Enjolras and Combeferre sat at the counter, studying for upcoming tests. The library may have been quieter, but the coffee on campus was crap, or so they explained.

"I think I'm going to change my major," Combeferre declared suddenly, closing his book with a loud _thump. _

Enjolras peered at him from over his own textbook. "To what?"

"Medicine."

Musichetta almost choked. "Oh God. One hypochondriac is enough for us."

"I'm not going to turn into Joly, if that's what you're worried about. I just think that it's an interesting field. Tuition in France is relatively inexpensive, I mean if you compare it to other countries. I'd never be bored; there would always be new information for me to learn. And it would also give me the opportunity to help people."

Musichetta's phone went off. She went outside to take the call.

"I think that's a great idea," Enjolras told him.

"But that's _so much school," _Éponine said.

"Well, yeah. Especially if I decide to continue with my degree in Philosophy, too."

"Two degrees? You want two degrees?" Éponine was a bit dizzy just at the thought.

"I think you'd be really successful," Enjolras said supportively.

Éponine turned to him, blinking excessively. "Aren't you going to be like, 'Oh, Combeferre, you can't do that, it'll take too much time away from planning the revolution!' or, 'School is a governmental institution designed to trap our youth and teach them to blindly follow the ways of the law!'"

Combeferre spit out his coffee, trying to keep himself from choking.

Enjolras, however, was not as amused. She closed his book and folded his hands across it, like a teacher about to give a lecture. "First, that is not what my voice sounds like. Second, Combeferre is a responsible adult and knows how to manage his time wisely. Third, that may be true for primary schools, but education at a university level generally encourages free and independent thinking."

Éponine rubbed her eyes. "I'm never going to understand you, am I?"

"Probably not."

Musichetta ran back in. "Joly found a spot on his tongue," she sighed.

"Is he okay?" Combeferre asked.

"Minus the overreaction, he's fine. I'm going to go see him. Éponine, can I talk to you for a second?"

"Oh, sure," Éponine said, as Musichetta dragged her to the cramped storage room in the back. She had absolutely no idea what it was about, but whenever somebody said they wanted to talk, it usually wasn't good.

_Please don't fire me please don't fire me please don't fire me, _she thought desperately. She _really _needed this job. No one else was going to hire her.

"Éponine," Musichetta began, putting her hands on the other girl's shoulders. "I know you haven't been working here that long, but you've been doing really good. And everyone seems to like you. So I think you should get a raise."

_Oh. _"Um… thank you?"

"It's not a lot, like about half a euro more an hour. But it's something, especially because I keep leaving you alone to work. Which brings me to my next subject."

Éponine's head was swimming. She was having a hard time processing this.

"You know how I said a girl had come in and take over while you were… sick?"

Éponine nodded slowly.

"Well, she did it as volunteer work. I was thinking of maybe hiring her permanently."

"And you're asking me what I think?"

"Well, yeah. Because it's Marius's girlfriend."

_Fuck._

"I mean I know you like him, and I just didn't want it to be a problem or anything. It's just that, she mentioned she didn't have a job, and she was just so helpful…."

Éponine _really _wanted to say no. Working at the café was _hers._ But she needed the job; she wasn't about to say no to her employer, even if she was asking for her opinion.

"You won't be working with her the whole time, you'll work with me sometimes, too," Musichetta continued. "And if it doesn't work out, I can tell her so."

Musichetta had a very convincing tone, which Éponine was sure came in handy when talking to an upset customer or calming Joly down from a panic attack.

"That's fine," Éponine sighed, hoping Musichetta would notice that it actually _wasn't _fine and would change her mind.

Musichetta squealed in delight instead. "Thank you so much," she said, wrapping her arms around the smaller girl and squeezing her.

Éponine wasn't really used to having others hug her, besides the occasional embrace from Jehan. So she awkwardly patted her friend on the back.

"Okay, I have to go take care of Joly, but I'll call Cosette right away and tell her!"

* * *

"I have something we should discuss," Éponine said.

Everyone turned. Although she was never one to shy away from offering her opinion, this was the first time she had started the topic.

"What's that?" Enjolras asked.

"I think we should discuss public education as a way of the government controlling our youth."

Combeferre bit back his grin. Joly gave him a questioning look, and Combeferre whispered something in his ear, probably recounting the story from earlier that day. Joly burst into a fit of laughter, nearly slamming his fist to the table.

"I'll raise a glass to that," Grantaire said.

"You'll raise a glass to anything," Bossuet replied to the drunk.

"I'll raise a glass to that too," he said, and he did.

* * *

And the next day, there she was.

As soon as Éponine opened the doors, there she was, standing behind the counter with a slight smile on her face. She looked like she belonged in a windowsill on _Avenue des Champs Elysées_, in her black A-line dress and cherry belt and flats.

The blonde looked up from whatever she was doing behind the counter and offered Éponine a small smile.

* * *

"I don't get it; what's wrong with her?" Feuilly asked.

"Nothing," Éponine spat out. They were sitting in a corner table towards the front of the room. In their sites were Cosette, who was leaning across the counter, looking at her boyfriend, and Marius, who was sitting at the opposite corner of the room with Courfeyrac, who had charged in and said he had some private matter to discuss with his best friend. Marius, however, wasn't really paying attention to Courfeyrac's story, instead continually glancing over to look at his girlfriend.

"…So the problem is…?"

"There isn't a problem! That's the problem. She's so goddamn great." Éponine was waving her hands in frustration.

Feuilly blinked a few times. He was trying to help, really, but Éponine wasn't making any sense. "So the problem is that there is no problem," he repeated slowly.

"Yes! Exactly! She's so pretty, and she's nice, but not in that obnoxious, shove-it-down-your-throat way, and, she's just- ugh."

"You're upset because she's genuinely a good person," Combeferre restated.

"Maybe she secretly has a terrible temper," Grantaire offered. "Let's find out." Before Combeferre or Feuilly could protest, Grantaire slipped the cardboard sleeve off of Combeferre's coffee cup and chucked it at Cosette.

Started, the girl blinked a few times and turned to them. With a somewhat mischievous grin, she through (or rather tossed) it back. Éponine groaned and set her head on the table.

"What's your opinion on dogs?" Combeferre asked her.

"I love all animals," Cosette said. "My dad and I moved around too much to get a pet, but I want to have a few once I finally settle down somewhere."

"What about art in schools?" Feuilly asked.

"Creativity and self-expression are just as important as math and science, especially when you're growing up and trying to learn about yourself," she answered.

"Yeah you're right," Feuilly whispered, turning to Éponine. "She's perfect."

The bell attached to the door of the café chimed, and Bahorel strode in. "I guess I should get back to work," Éponine groaned, standing.

She joined Cosette behind the counter and retied her apron. "The usual?" she asked him, not even waiting for an answer as she began to make his drink.

Bahorel glanced at Cosette, then back to Éponine. "Um… I think I'm going to stick with water for right now."

"You never just want water," Éponine said, ignoring him.

"Yes I do."

"No you don't."

"Yes, I do," he repeated, a bit more decisively.

"No."

"Yes I do, I do right now."

Éponine looked up from her work. "No you don't," she said, and her voice implied that hers would be the final word. She practically shoved the coffee into his hands. "Why would you even say you didn't want coffee?"

"…It's because your coffee turns to shit when you're in a bad mood."

"Who said I was in a bad mood?" Éponine asked. Her voice was a terrifying sort of calm.

"No one, I just assumed—"

She raised an eyebrow.

"Thanks for the coffee, Ép," he spat out as fast as his mouth would move.

"You're welcome," she said sweetly. She noted the rather large-numbered bill he left in the tip jar.

"Did you just threaten a customer?" Cosette asked.

"Maybe," Éponine replied noncommittally.

"Hmm," Cosette nodded.

Enjolras came bursting in, opening the door so fast it nearly snapped off its hinges.

"The madness never ends," Éponine muttered. She started his usual order before he could even ask.

"What I don't understand," he began, "is how a grown man with a doctorate from one of the most prestigious colleges in France couldn't possibly understand that health care is a universal right and not a communist ideal."

"Professor or politician?" Éponine asked.

"Politician. I just don't understand he sleeps at night knowing that people are denied basic rights."

"Probably quite comfortably, between down blankets, while Mozart plays from his stereo."

"And what's even worse is that people know this injustice is occurring and don't even care. They just go about their ordinary lives, unflinching as their fellow men are oppressed by those in power. I mean, how can they even call themselves free?"

"Maybe we need to switch you to decaf."

He scoffed, then finally seemed to realize that Cosette was even there. "I thought you were just volunteering last week," he said to her.

"I was, but Musichetta said she needed some extra help, so she hired me officially."

"Hmm. Well, congratulations."

"And welcome to the madness," Éponine added.

"Thanks," she answered brightly.

Enjolras accepted the coffee and joined Feuilly, Combeferre, Bahorel, and Grantaire.

"So… what time do you get off?" Éponine asked Cosette casually.

"…My shift actually ended an hour ago, but then things got busy, and you had to go on break, so I just stayed."

_Are you serious? _"You didn't have to."

"I know."

Éponine bit her lip, finally deciding to ask the question that had been burning in her mind all day. "What did Marius tell you about me?"

"All good things," Cosette smiled.

"No, I mean, like… about…."

Cosette sighed. "I knew that would come up. He just said that you weren't sure how you felt about him but then you decided that you didn't actually have feelings for him."

_Well, not exactly, but close enough._

"Éponine," Cosette continued, "I didn't exactly have a lot of friends growing up. I mean, once I left my foster home, I was homeschooled, and we moved around a lot, so even when I did stuff like volunteer work I never got to make any close friends."

Did she not remember anything about staying with Éponine's family either? _That _was a question Éponine wasn't going to ask.

"What I'm trying to say is," Cosette sighed, "I really want to be friends with you. But I really don't want things to be weird. I mean, Marius is the first _real _friend I ever made, and he really likes you, and so I just want us to all be friends."

"Okay," Éponine answered quietly.

"Okay?"

"Yes, okay."

"Good! So, if we're going to be friends, can I ask you something?"

"…I suppose?"

"Is there something going on with you and him?" she said, nodding to the back table.

"Me and who?"

"You and Enjolras."

Éponine coughed loudly. "Um… no. Why do you ask?"

Cosette shrugged. "The way he looked at you a second ago, I just thought… nevermind."

"Enjolras doesn't look at girls. Actually, he, like, actively avoids him."

"I'm being silly, I'm imagining things. Ignore me. Guess I'm just a bit of a romantic… but he's pretty cute. Just throwing that out there."

Éponine glanced over to him. He was leaned into the table, sitting at the spot Éponine had previously claimed, having an intense discussion with Feuilly. Although she wasn't going to admit it, she agreed with Cosette. He was handsome, almost _pretty, _and his features might have been soft and kind had it not been for the hard look in his eyes.

"If you want me to, you know, casually mention—"

"No! No, that's really not necessary."

"If you say so," Cosette hummed.

* * *

Despite all the excitement of the day, the night was shaping up to be boringly ordinary. Cosette and Marius had left to go on a proper date not long after she and Cosette talked, and one by one, the rest of the students had filed out of the café. As usual, Enjolras looked like he was going to stay until Musain closed. He was still at the table, working on his third cup of coffee, scribbling angrily on a notebook.

And Éponine, as usual, was _bored. _She sat down at the table by Enjolras, hugging a cup of tea. "So… what are you working on?" she asked.

"Midterm," he answered, barely pausing his writing.

"What do you think of Cosette?" she regretted the words as soon as they left her lips, because she had a feeling this conversation probably wasn't going to be enjoyable.

"She seems fine," he said simply.

"'Fine'? Not 'perfect' or 'flawless' or 'amazing'?"

"I've talked to her twice."

"So? Everyone thinks she's like a ball of sunshine, especially Marius, obviously."

"I'm sure she's great. I'm just a little confused at why we're discussing anything that has to do with Pontmercy's love life. It's not a subject I enjoy dwelling on."

"Okay, what do you want to talk about?"

"I dunno, maybe the tax loopholes created for—"

The bell attached to the door rang out. Nobody ever came to the café this late; it was half an hour before closing.

A girl stood in the doorway. She was, maybe, sixteen, wearing ill-fitting clothes and torn-up shoes. Her dark hair was ratted and looked like it hadn't been brushed in several days. She had a bit of dirt on her cheek, and her eyes were too large for her face, giving her a timid expression. A bony shoulder poked out from the sweater she was wearing.

"Your sweater looks awful with that skirt," Éponine said, standing.

"You've gotten fat," the girl responded.

"Only compared to your bony ass. Is that my skirt?"

"Does it matter? It won't fit you now."

"Why are you here?"

"Mom's sick."

"Am I supposed to care?"

"No. But you should at least know."

"Okay."

The girl paused for a second, biting her lip. "I should go," she said finally.

"Wait," Éponine told her, running to the back room.

The girl stared at Enjolras with her large brown eyes. It was a bit unnerving, really, and Enjolras thought he should say something, but he didn't know what to say.

The girl finally spoke, but it didn't solve the uncomfortable air between them. "Are you banging my sister?"

"…No?"

"Why not?"

Thankfully, Éponine ran back into the room. She was holding a bundle of something, presumably pastries. "To help with your scrawny ass," she said.

"I should really go," the girl told her.

"Okay. See you around."

"Yeah," the girl nodded, pulling the door open hastily.

Éponine just stared at the spot where the girl had previously stood.

"So, that was—"

"My sister, Azelma. Yep."

* * *

**A/N**: okay I know Enjolras wasn't in this one as much as I wanted him to be. *profuse apologizing*


End file.
